


Sand (Ten Thousand Grains for a Drop of Water)

by Solanyxe



Series: Water and Sand [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 98,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanyxe/pseuds/Solanyxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the ending theme animation. A direct sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/930147">Water (To Lovers Water Tastes Like Wine)</a>, this time from Rin's PoV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What I Covet and What You Crave

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The rating is for the fiction as a whole, for the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> 2\. In case you don't feel like reading the first fic, here's a short summary:  
> The realm of Sarimah is afflicted by drought, which is said to be caused by the madness of the previous sultan. Haru (Haruk Ah), descendant of the Marid tribe and shaman of the water spirits, arrives in Alamas, a city in the desert. There he is captured by Rin (Prince Rinaz III), whom Haru has known as a child. Rin uses Haru's thirst and the mutual friendship/attraction in order to persuade Haru to restore the water source with the help of the enigmatic 'siren's flower.'
> 
> 3.  
> \- Sha'ir [[1]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sha'ir) \- pre-Islamic Arab poet believed to have magical powers  
> \- Gou/Kou - Gohar  
> \- Nitori - Nizamat
> 
> I apologize for all the possible remaining mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The rating is for the fiction as a whole, for the upcoming chapters.
> 
> 2\. In case you don't feel like reading the first fic, here's a short summary:  
> The realm of Sarimah is afflicted by drought, which is said to be caused by the madness of the previous sultan. Haru (Haruk Ah), descendant of the Marid tribe and shaman of the water spirits, arrives in Alamas, a city in the desert. There he is captured by Rin (Prince Rinaz III), whom Haru has known as a child. Rin uses Haru's thirst and the mutual friendship/attraction in order to persuade Haru to restore the water source with the help of the enigmatic 'siren's flower.'
> 
> 3.  
> \- Sha'ir [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sha'ir)] - pre-Islamic Arab poet believed to have magical powers  
> \- Gou/Kou - Gohar  
> \- Nitori - Nizamat
> 
> I apologize for all the possible remaining mistakes.

  
_Keep your treasures._  
_Me, I'm worth more than all that,_  
_Bars are bars, albeit of gold._  
_I want the same right rights as you_  
_And respect for each day._  
_Me, I want nothing but love._  
**\- Jean-Jacques Goldman, Aicha**  


  


 

The early hours of the morning had broken the nightly cold, and the sunrays had chased away the shade. The room regained its colors.  
Rin walked to the windows and peered outside.  
The sun hit his face like the glare of an evil, judging orb in the sky. It probed into Rin’s sleepy eyes.  
He hadn’t ordered the room curtained only because he thought Haru would not want to. Not that he should care what Haru did or did not want. 

The man in his bed had been trashing and turning with fever for two days. He was not the sweet, elusive phantom from Rin’s past. The memory of the silent boy had become a Sha’ir who drew his power from spirits and jinn, a man as thin and slender as a fawn. Haru’s voice had matured, but retained that fine, tender quality and the detached coldness.  
He was a creature of flesh. His sweltered body carried a bitter, baneful scent of sickness. His skin had broken in red rashes. His lips were rugged and dry.  
When Haru’s eyes had opened, they hadn’t recognized Rin, nay, they had trailed confused circles on the ceiling until the lids had closed them from this world again. At times Haru had seemed to gather enough presence of mind to whisper for water. Rin had pulled him up to the waist and forced a sip of medicine into Haru’s mouth. He entrusted the task to none but his sister and his closest servant, but preferably he entrusted it to none but himself.  
After drinking, Haru had grimaced with eyes unopened, and had nested powerless in Rin’s lap, waiting for Rin to lay him down on the cushions. 

It was not a dream.  
Out of some silly, inexplicable dread that Haru might vanish again, vanish as quickly as he had appeared, Rin had ordered that he be placed in Rin’s rooms. Rin himself had slept nothing but a wink or two, until Nizamat and Gohar had convinced him that a prince should be more responsible. Therefore he had rested and lain down to sleep in the same room. The cursed sun had woken him. 

He walked back to the bed and sat upon it.  
Haru was still sleeping. Yet now he hardly seemed a Sha’ir who could command spirits, or humans, for that matter. He didn’t either seem that prisoner who had hounded Rin with accusatory eyes. Just a few days ago, Haru had seemed like a captured spirit master. He had been torn between thirst and defiance, and to Rin his countenance had looked pitiful, strangely intimidating, and every bit alluring.  
Now instead Haru was…

“Only human, like me,” whispered Rin and moistened Haru’s lips with a damp cloth. 

Despite that, something about Haru sucked Rin in. It was something indiscernible, a blind spot between the carefree childhood memories and the crude, fleshy mortality of Haru’s grown features. There was something hidden between the corporeal weakness and the power Haru commanded in the spirit world. It was intangible and confusing, like a secret both out of sight and in plain view. Haru was both a stranger and a dear friend, and Rin could not tell which of the two was truer. The disparity was playing on the strings of Rin’s heart, luring him with a tune of multiple, contrasting chords.

The best of wines had no aroma, meat smelled of rot, cakes with rose water had no flavor, incense and spices were dry hazes and ash. Whatever Rin put in his mouth had no taste. If he licked and chewed a piece of gold, it would make no difference, surely. He could don the richest robes and still feel poor. He could pour cup after cup of water down his gorge, jugs and jugs of tasteless water, and still feel all the thirst of this land. One thing was as bland as the other. 

Yet even tasteless water had seemed the most delectable drink when Haru had swallowed it. 

The angered lust and desperation in Haru's eyes had been a spell that had shone as the reflection in the water. Haru's gaze had changed water into wine and grief to expectation. As long as Haru's eyes had been riveted on Rin, the spell had worked. Rin had drunk as if he could have felt with Haru's tongue. The taste of thin water had become a sip of the arcane and of unspeakable mysteries. Fresh. Neither sweet nor sour, not bitter and not salty. Water had tasted full. Water had tasted hollow, hollow enough to contain everything. It had tasted of the need to swallow and breathe and run under the sun. It had tasted of desire to move the feet with the rhythm of the earth and seasons, and to laze in the shade. It had contained the age-old need to borrow eagle's wings and fish's fins. It had tasted of want for life.  
No matter how many times Rin had clicked his tongue, the aroma had evaded descriptions. He had felt as though he could have swum the skies and flown across the sea, all while remaining seated in his rooms.

In time of curses, Haru had returned to him as a blessing. Now Haru only needed to wake up.  
Images of deserts, drought, and corpses imposed on Rin’s eyes, and at once Rin banished them to the faraway corners of his mind. Since neither Gohar nor Nizamat were not there to see, he held Haru’s wrist, and closed his eyes. 

‘Mine to hold and keep,’ thought Rin.  
He lowered his head to lay a kiss on the back of Haru’s hand. ‘I knew you would return to me. I knew you would not forget me.’  
When Haru moved, Rin released the hand and stepped back. His heart throbbed mercilessly, as a thief waiting to be discovered and as a suitor wishing to be heard. 

“How is he?” Gohar tiptoed into the room and was already next to him. She was wearing informal clothing, with a veil resting on her unbound hair. “You don’t need to worry, brother.”

“I don’t,” said Rin. 

“The physician said he’ll be all right,” said Gohar.  
Why was she telling him this?

“I know,” said Rin.

When Rin’s had prodded about the illness, the doctor had evaded the question at first, and then he had said in a low voice, “It’s the illness of this city. Too much sun, too little water.”  
That was the curse of the Sultan, the curse of the Prince.  
Rin had stood in the middle of the room like a helpless little child, the same way he stood now. 

He was not a little child. He was the Crown Prince. He was not guilty of anything. 

“So take some rest,” said Gohar. 

“These are my rooms, and I’m resting. Why are you here?” Rin said. 

Only Haru’s strained breathing softened the silence between. 

Gohar dipped a piece of cloth in the water and began to wipe Haru’s face. 

Rin looked down at his red slippers. “It’s not my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was, brother,” Gohar said softly, without turning to meet his eyes.

But she thought so. Not only she, everyone in Sarimah thought so. Rinaz was a curse, be it the second of that name, or the third. People spat on the sand upon hearing it. 

Haru turned and opened his eyes. “Where?” he said. He blocked Gohar’s hand. 

Rin rushed closer. “You will be fine.” He brushed away the mops of black hair from Haru’s brow and felt the temperature. “You will be fine, you’re with me.”  
His fingertips moved to sketch the jut of Haru’s brows and cheekbones and the hollow of his cheek. They grazed the dry furrows of his lips. Haru’s gaze regained focus.  
Rin retracted his fingers, but Haru caught the hand and held it with more strength than an ailing person should possess.  
He glanced around as if not understanding and then stared back into Rin’s eyes. The grip on Rin’s wrist tightened. Rin felt a swarm of tiny, pleasant stings in his stomach, and the flux of blood into his ears and then downward. 

“Ah,” said Gohar. “Do you remember where you are?”

“Call the physician,” said Rin. “And bring some millet soup with milk, no, ask the physician what to bring.”  
Gohar left. 

Rin gave Haru a few sips of water. “You must not drink too much at once.” Just by watching Haru drink, he felt fear and apathy flourish into greed and lust. He touched Haru’s temples, as if to move away a strand of hair. How he longed to come closer, to become everything Haru would see, to feel the resonation of Haru’s heart through the touch of their ribs, to claim Haru’s flesh and mysteries.  
He narrowed his eyes and bid his thoughts to turn to something else.  
“You’ve slept for two days. You fainted, do you remember?” Rin said at last. “When you regain your strength, you will perform the water ritual.” He could think of no other thing to say, of nothing to connect his mind to Haru’s. 

Haru pulled himself up, and his gaze became cold and gripping like desert nights. Or perhaps it was hot and relentless like desert daylight.  
Rin felt as though he were floating in a vast nothingness behind Haru’s pupils. In it he saw his own reflection. His hand rested on the sheet over Haru’s thigh.  
“It would be better if we could find more of your people, since that would make a greater impact,” Rin said.

Haru slapped Rin’s hand away. “I agreed to no such thing.”

What?

“Are you joking?” said Rin? “I could have you beheaded for this.”  
He bit his lips. Idiot. What a stupid thing to say, what a stupid thing to do. That was not what he had planned. Yet no, it was his right, it was not stupid. When a prince talked, commoners should listen. When a prince ordered, commoners should obey. What he wanted to say…

“You heard, didn’t you? Back then…at the pool…”said Rin. “Because I will not repeat myself again.”

Haru looked at him with eyes as expressionless as water. “Then I will not ask.”

Rin waited for Haru to change his mind, waited for any word from Haru’s mouth, while Haru was sitting and goggling in front of himself. Then Haru tried to get up, and Rin stopped him. “Do not presume to tell me what to do,” said Haru. 

What was this? It was not at all the way Rin had imagined it would be. 

He had forgotten how annoying and utterly irritating Haru was and had always been. Always letting himself be chased and begged, always cold and disdainful, and always looking down on Rin. 

Gohar returned with the doctor. 

“Tend to him,” said Rin. “I have better things to do.”

He grabbed the talwar, which belonged to Haru, and marched out. 

The sword had belonged to Rin before, and before yet it had belonged to Rin’s fathers and forefathers. It was not as richly covered in jewels as some other, finer swords, which had no room left on the hilt and scabbard for a single diamond more, but this talwar was one of the oldest imperial swords. Rin had been punished for having given it away. In fact that was the first time he had been reproached so severely, the first time that the words, “You have brought shame, you are unfit,” had been uttered to him with all earnestness, and not as a part of his breeding as a prince.  
Had Haru known that? He couldn’t have.  
At least he had not lost the talwar or bartered it away. 

Rin girdled the talwar round his hips, next to his dagger. If nothing else, the return of the imperial sword was a clear sign that the time was ripe, and Rin should wait no more to seize the throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I wanted to write each chapter from a different PoV, but Rin is such a prima donna boy sometimes. Anyway, this time more characters from the anime will appear.
> 
> To be honest, I still have roughly one third left to write, and I have to edit the previous parts, but in the meantime I'll start posting the earlier chapters. I'll try to update as frequently as possible.  
> Hopefully that will give me the motivation to finish, because right now I'm in the phase of "What's the point anyway?"  
> I don't know, based on the fist episodes, I was expecting more from the anime, and from the preview I already know that I won't like the last episode. *cries inconsolably*


	2. The Immovable, the Movable, and Those Who Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Seijuurou - Seyjur
> 
> 2.  
> \- Meerza, Mirza [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mirza)] - Prince; rank of a high nobleman or Prince, usually translated into English as a royal or imperial Prince of the Blood  
> \- Basha, Pasha [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasha)] - a higher rank in the Ottoman Empire political and military system  
> \- Divan [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Divan)] - council, high governmental body in a number of Islamic states, or its chief official  
> \- Mushir [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasha),[2](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mushir)] - the highest rank in most militaries of the Middle East, Field Marshal
> 
> 3\. I've placed the characters from the anime in slightly different roles because I thought that suited the storyline more. Since I've thrown them into a different world and different circumstances, I hope nobody is too OOC.

 

Rin was waiting in one of the smaller reception rooms, his fingers tapping on the wooden handles of his seat. The handles bore the shape of bulls, and Rin found himself rapping and knocking at their polished heads.  
The room had a modest line of intarsia on the wooden panels that were covering the lower part of the walls. Per Rin’s orders, the windows were partially screened.

Tap, tap.  
Seyjur Basha was surely taking his time.

The main reception room, the Hall of Gold, might have been more imposing, with the gemmed peacock throne, and with richer inlays on the walls. The inside of the domed ceiling was plated with gold, and niches were cut into it, like windows, revealing a thinner layer of elaborate inlays in white marble and gold. Such a setting would make for a more formal reception, no doubt, and for a more formal request, which anyone would think twice before refuting. Yet the Hall of Gold had also significantly more guards, some of whom were spies. It was safer here.

Rap, tap, tap.

Rin needn’t concern himself with the old concubine’s son, for he was too young to be a competitor to the throne, but his own uncles and their companions were worrying him more than little.  
He had to contend with two generals, once scholar, and, last but hardly the least, one vizier. Each of them held power aplenty, and united they held more power than the Crown Prince and heir. It was up to Rin to continue playing their toy whilst keeping them disunited and pulling enough power under his feet. Rin’s biggest fear was that instead of playing a toy, that a toy he in truth was, and that his efforts were in vain. He had wasted too much time with indecision and idleness.

‘Haru, how am I to convince them if you deny me help?’ Rin thought. He touched the gems on his imperial talwar to draw strength.

He’d start with the simplest of his uncles, the one who had helped him stop the wars, but had then pulled his support away.

The guards announced the general.

“You’ve called for me, Rinaz Meerza,” said Seyjur. He wore the simple clothing of a common man, washed out red and black, but despite that he carried an aura of strength. Something about his unbowed back, his wide shoulders and the free tousle of his hair made him seem like a good natured beast, but a beast nevertheless. Fitted with more brawns than brains, why was he popular? Many soldiers who were Rin’s in name belonged in truth to Seyjur, and Seyjur’s orders they would follow.

‘Don’t think you outrank me because of that, Royal Uncle. I will not let you take my throne,’ thought Rin. Out loud he said merely, “So I have.”

Seyjur waited with his arms crossed. Would he sigh and refuse Rin’s order as he had done before? It was preposterous that Rin should ask, less even beg like this.

“I want you to transfer nine thousand units of the infantry under my direct command,” said Rin, “and sixteen units of the mounted archers as well.”  
He’d have liked to ask for the men with muskets, too, but those troops were still too few and inexperienced to use. Plus, Seyjur would never agree if Rin had pushed too much.

Seyjur cracked a smile. “I cannot do that. Hang me for treason if you must, but too much power in the hands of one man was the root of our misfortune. I will not see it happen again.”  
Foolishly sincere as always, but at least Rin feared betrayal from Seyjur less than from other, more smiling faces.

“I will carry your orders as long as they serve the land of Sarimah,” added Seyjur. His eyebrows knitted in a stern expression. “Even when the last vassal lord will bow before you, I will still say the same words. That is my way of protecting your land, our land, as a general.”

Our land… The land was Rin’s by right. Protecting… He only wanted to keep the power to himself.

“I have the Sha’ir of the Marids, and he will do my bidding,” said Rin. “I have their magic, so I can set things the way they were supposed to be. It’s your duty before the spirits to aid me.”

“Hm,” said Seyjur. “Those are words I heard before, Meerza.” Seyjur’s eyes were bright and keen like lion’s. He stepped closer to Rin. “Many times you came to me, and equal times I said nothing. This time I will. That is not enough. Why should anyone give to you what he could keep for himself? If you want others to follow, you must lead, and lead well.”

And how was Rin to lead without an army? He bit angry words back inside his mouth. Seyjur was a simple man, so he must have been looking for a simple answer. Rin felt sweat beading at his temples. A simple answer, yet the answer Rin did not have. What would convince this uncle? Which show of strength? No, not strength, a show of wisdom was needed, something simple for Seyjur to understand... It would be easy to convince him if Rin had offered him Gohar, but Gohar was refusing to be offered, bartered, or traded in any way, and Rin had promised to respect her wish. Not to mention that Rin would rather cut one of his hands off than to give Gohar to a simpleton such as Seyjur. What to offer, then?

“Is Meerza wanting to tell me anything else?” said Seyjur.

“I have told you my orders,” Rin said.

Seyjur made a small nod with his head. “I have heard your orders.” He had heard the orders but would not execute them, that much was clear. He stood waiting to be dismissed. How could Rin convince them to follow? He was unable to convince even the simplest of them.

“That is all,” said Rin. He got up. Then he called after Seyjur, “Wait. Accompany me to the council.”

“The council?” said Seyjur. “I have no time for that.”

“Now you do,” said Rin.

 

Inside the Hall of Truths, the scholars were already arguing. Of truths the chambers had heard but a modicum, at least to Rin’s knowledge. Undoubtedly it had been thus even before Rin’s times.

Some scholars were smoothing their black and grey beards, while others were gesturing wildly with their hands, or drinking their refill of coffee from small golden cups. Others yet were sitting like dignified statues.  
They all became silent when Rin entered, and they kneeled in front of him. Rin took his seat. At least the cushion was soft. At least the ministers of the Imperial Divan were fewer than the petitioners during the public audiences.  
The sun was streaming in through the lattice window, drawing on the floor and the wise men a mosaic of thin shadows. In order to regain his composure, Rin focused on that and took a deep breath. He was the Prince, he could do it.

Seyjur went to stand at Rin’s right side. It perhaps seemed humbling that he stood in the presence of the Prince and the scholars, as if to admit that he was only a soldier and a guard, unfit to sit in such company. At the same time, this meant he was taller than anyone, even the Prince, and his folded arms and upright posture seemed to fit a surveyor more than a lowly soldier. Seyjur was prone to uncouth rudeness of this kind. Hopefully the scholars would think that Seyjur was surveying under the Prince’s commands.

"My Prince," said the Vizier.  
He trimmed his beard and dusted it red in a similar fashion as Rin’s father had used to, which made his looks resemble even more the former Sultan.  
Other features were similar, too, like the Vizier’s rich clothing and his poise, and a few facial details.  
Especially the nose and the mouth curved in similar ways, and on rare occasions the eyes reminded Rin of father as well. They were brothers after all, uncle Vizier and the old Sultan.

"We have been awaiting you to grace us with your wisdom, for the scholars cannot find accord on this matter," said the Vizier.  
Yet father’s face would have never twisted with such fake smiles and silken, poisonous words.

What a nice way that was of saying that Rin should better not have come, since his young wit was not worth of mention. Doubtless the ministers would prefer to decide everything among them, even if it took them a year of debates. Doubtless the Vizier would love to lead said debate.

The eldest scholar began to speak. "Brigands are still attacking merchants and palmers on the trade route between the posts in the west and northwest of Sarimah. The borders are not safe. Trade of several goods, spice, silk, gold, and even sheep, is hindered, my Prince."

"We cannot let this go on unpunished, Meerza," said another. His plump cheeks were red from the heat, and drops of sweat were running into his moustache.

"No doubt the Union of Western Cities is behind this,” a frail man in a jeweled robe, uncle Aarif, said. Despite being the oldest of father’s siblings, he did not resemble him at all. He had been sickish since his young years, too sick to take the throne, and sometimes he was too stern. “They're using the peace treaty to weaken our defenses and disperse fear and terror among your subjects,” said Aarif. “Those are not occasional robberies. We have thousands accounts from the vassal lords at the borders."

"Yes, we should send reinforcements, Meerza,” said a scholar whose face Rin did not recall. “Four thousand units of infantrymen, that's what I say, for we must not bow before the Western Cities. We must protect Sarimah."

He glanced at uncle Aarif, and uncle Aarif nodded almost imperceptibly.  
Now it was clear.  
It must have been part of their plan to move Seyjur to the border, therefore weaken Seyjur’s influence, and maybe even turn him or his troops against Rin.  
Rin smiled to himself. This meant they still thought Seyjur had unconditionally pledged his sword and his armies to Rin.

"Four thousand? That is far too much," said Rin quickly, so Seyjur wouldn't open his mouth.

Seyjur looked as though a grave headache was afflicting him; scholarly debates were not his strong point. Neither were Rin's, sadly. It had turned out that peace, much like war, was a rented commodity, and much like war it needed constant upkeep.

"A deployment of such a large force would be seen as preparation for an invasion," Rin said. "A sleeping lion should not be wakened."

"My Prince, the lion is not sleeping, already it is spreading its claws into your country,” said the Vizier.

Rin frowned. "Brigands and thieves should not bear the name of lion, unless Sarimah is so frightened that it names a few flies as lions."

"Meerza is right," said another scholar. "We must not be hasty, I’ve told you so. It's easier to start a war than to end it."

"Less troops, then,” someone from the last row called. “If venerable Meerza sent a general of great renown at least, that alone would be enough to deter the brigands from their wrongdoings."

Rin rubbed his eyes. To send Seyjur with a skeleton army would be even more dangerous.

"We cannot let criminals ravish our land, Meerza," Seyjur said. "It’s not right. It does not matter if said criminals are from Sarimah, or elsewhere. You must protect your people. If I'm needed, I will go."

Simplistic fool. Now he’d ask for a substantial chunk of army to follow him, too, unless Rin stopped him.

"You have an important task here, General," said Rin, "or do you think guarding Alamas is a task too low for you?"

"That was not what I said," Seyjur said. His brow furrowed, and his calm, honest eyes gained the luster of a warrior, a feral animal. "Don't twist my words. I'm prepared to guard Alamas with my life."

"Watch your words in front of the Prince," said the Vizier. "Disrespect will not be tolerated."

"I'm giving my honest words, brother," said Seyjur. "You should too. He’s not a child to be pampered with sweet words."

They glared at each other. If this escalated, someone would find a way to send Seyjur in confinement for other reasons.

Rin sighed. "I know your merits, general, and that's why I wish you to keep performing the task that's been already assigned to you." He wet his lips. "Sending troops without knowing the circumstances is the mark of an imprudent man, and I will not let that be said of me. Five hundred units and no more. I also order Seyjur Mushir to personally pick a team of three most inquisitive minds among the soldiers and send them to make light of this affair. I want to know whether the brigands act as a single organization. I want to know it by the next last quarter of the moon. I also want to hear a report of how loyal the vassal lords are.  
“As you remember, during the reign of Sultan Nadhir, the vassals of remote cities piled their own taxes on top of the regular ones, unbeknownst to the Sultan but in his name. Common people rose and became bandits in such numbers that the rebellion could not be smothered for three years. If I do not receive that report in due time, I will order the investigators to return in chains."

"Would Meerza send three of his best men to prison despite their fulfilling your orders as best as they can?" said Seyjur. "Rethink, Rinaz."

Sometimes Seyjur's direct approach went beyond all limits. Nobody was allowed to speak to a prince in that manner.

Rin stood from his seat. "Meerza would like to know," he said, "why we still have only surmises. Why and what are we debating, when there is no proof? We can’t neither confirm nor deny the suspicions of either of us. We are spinning yarn from clouds and mists."

He looked across the room and sat down. "This is what I will do. I order the Bey of Mahaz post to come to Alamas, and in his stead..."

Whom should he appoint? He feared to send an enemy, for an enemy could grab the opportunity, unite the border cities under his own command, and turn against Rin. At the same time, Rin didn't wish to send away an ally either, since he needed as many allies on the council as he could get. If only he had power. If he had more power, he would not need the Imperial Divan at all. He needed Haru.

"In his stead I will appoint scholar Sahib, and he will work with the investigators," Rin said.  
A man of the Vizier against three of Seyjur's men. Those should be good odds for Rin.

The scholars began protesting and giving advice, and arguing among themselves. They've began citing philosophers. In turn Rin began to cite philosophers as well.

That would take forever. Forever. The sun would set and rise again before Rin would be free to go. He should have left some better instructions for Haru’s care.

If only Rin had more power, he could rule alone, as his father had done. He clenched his fists. No, not like his father.  
What was worse, Haru would not help. ‘I’ve promised no such thing,’ resounded in Rin’s mind. Haru had even kissed Rin, kissed more than once, embraced him in the pool, and sighed into Rin’s mouth, yet now he wouldn't even perform the water ritual.

"I'm tired of this," Rin said.

"Would Meerza need a rest?" said the Vizier. "I can carry out your orders, so you may go to rest, my Prince."

Need a rest? A loyal vizier would do more good than all the rest in the world.

"Thank you, Imperial Uncle," Rin said. "Bring the papers to me when the council is over."

Vizier Jaleel bowed. "It will be done."

It would be done, sure, but done with the addition of several small changes to Rin's orders, no doubt. Rin would have to deal with that later. Sometimes in order to manipulate, one had to agree to be manipulated first.

Seyjur followed Rin outside.

Since Seyjur would still not understand why it was beneficial for the realm if Rin assumed direct command over the army, Rin would try some other way of persuasion.

“Uncle,” said Rin. “Would you help me train and spar with a sword in the next days? I am out of practice.”

Seyjur’s eyes widened in surprise, and then their corners creased with his smile. “Of course. As long as you treat the art of warfare with due respect. Like the old times?”

“Yes,” said Rin.

He had learned from Seyjur more than from any other combat master, and shared with him a similar drive for victory, but where Seyjur never faltered and never had a doubt, Rin was still searching for…he himself did not know what.

Perhaps it was because of that simplemindedness, or focus, or clarity, or whatever it was that Seyjur possessed and Rin didn't, perhaps it was because of it that their minds and combat styles grew too different with time.

“And I’d like to practice archery with you again,” said Rin. “I need to clear my mind; you've seen there is always too much talk at the council, day by day.”

At the mention of the Imperial Divan, Seyjur laughed and excused himself.  
And with that Rin was a step closer. Perhaps it was easier to convince a soldier on the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that I should write it down in case anyone is interested.  
> The rest of the Iwatobi Swim Club will appear from chapter 4 on, and if you're interested exclusively in the more spicy side of the story, that will mostly happen in chapter...eek, I'm not sure yet. I think in chapter 9 or so, but it depends on how I'll splice the story. I haven't written the story in chronological order, and that part is still not finished-wish me luck. 
> 
> I really apologize for all the mistakes that might have remained in the text. Also, thank you if you're reading this fic. 
> 
> Other:  
> Maybe you've noticed that there are words that I sometimes capitalize and other times I don't. It's not a mistake.  
> \- marids and Marids: the first is just the term for water spirits, the second is the name of Haru's tribe people  
> \- prince and Prince: I capitalize it when I use it as a title (Yep, in his mind Rin thinks of himself as the Prince.), same goes for Vizier, General etc.
> 
> The title of the chapter is nicked from an Arabian saying.  
> "All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move."


	3. Dreams of Sands in Desert Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.  
> \- ksar [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ksar)] - castle  
> \- hookah [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hookah)] - waterpipe for vaporizing and smoking tobacco
> 
> 2.  
> Nitori - Nizamat  
> Gou/Kou - Gohar  
> Teacher Amakata - Amameera
> 
> 3\. The title of this chapter is a twist on the lyrics in the [Sting's song Desert Rose](http://youtu.be/C3lWwBslWqg).  
> (I dream of gardens in the desert sands)
> 
> 4\. I wrote that in the next chapter the rest of the boys would appear, but I'm splitting this chapter in two parts because of the word count, so it'll take just a bit longer. 
> 
> Thank you for reading the fic. :)

 

 

Now that he was free to return to his quarters and to Haru, Rin felt the desire to go somewhere else. Anywhere else.  
If he waited and contemplated and guessed a bit more, he might come up with the right words to convince Haru. He might overcome the sudden dread that the one in his memory had become a stranger.

He took a walk around his ksar, his palace. It was as big and magnificent as a city within a city, thus everyone said. If Alamas was the jewel in the deserts, a rose in the sands, then the imperial palace was the morning dew on the rose, a beauty among beauties.  
Yet what was the purpose of the high walls, of proud towers, of white marble, and of lace in stone?  
To Rin they seemed too small and confining. The buildings inside the palace came to an end too quickly, and the streets of Alamas began too soon. Sand and dry air were indenting the walls of the palace, pressing into Rin’s world, and Rin thought that he would be forever poor, for he’d never have enough water to sate the land and its dwellers.

He needed the magic of the Marids, needed Haru more than anything. If Rin only had known what the siren’s flower was, it would be easier to ask for it from Haru, yet he only knew it was connected to the water ritual, and it brought prosperity. Without it, without the support of both the water magic and the troops, Rin had only his formal position to bargain with. What leverages did he have?

There was not enough water.  
The repair of the aqueduct was slow, and the workers under the scholars’ guidance would botch it each time, again and again. There was neither Marid hand nor eye to guide the works as they had done in times past.  
No doubt the ministers’ orders favored such plight. It served to deter Rin’s ascension and keep the current state; they with power and Rin without it. Besides that, the councilors lined their pockets and purses with the price of water rations. Since the elder times, the noblemen had received part of their pay in water, and now that the water was scarce enough to be measured in gold, their riches were multiplying.  
Oft Rin had tried to change the methods of payment, but the Divan had protested in unity, each time with the explanation that water pay was tradition. It had been their right since their forefathers and earlier.  
As for the drying oasis, Rin had no idea even where to begin. So many times he had heard that it was a sentence inflicted by the angry spirits that he had began to believe it. No learned man and no crafter seemed to know how to right that wrong, and Alamas remained a flower without water, a shining shell without its pearls.

Rin as the center of the city, as the heart and soul of the realm, was guilty of it through his blood, since he was son of his father, and guilty through his actions, for he allowed the drought and the suffering to continue.

Only Haru could change it.  
Every grain of sand he could turn into water, and every dying blade of millet and wheat would revive again, so the records described the water magic of the Marid tribe, and such was the power of the Marid Sha’ir. Whence it came, the drought would disappear again.  
Rin didn’t expect all dunes to become waves. If even ten thousand grains became a drop of water, he, and the entire Sarimah, would be wealthy beyond measures. He would be free.  
For that Rin would gift Haru with whatever Haru’s heart wished for, be it gold, Rin’s own robes, or lands.

Then Rin could finally obtain what father had wanted. Father… Rin thought of father so often that at times he tired out and forgot why and for what he meant to endeavor in this task. Was it to achieve what his father had not been able to? Was it to be with Haru? Was it to save the realm? Or was it something else?  
Rin reminded himself that it was not time to dwell on such things.

He was already crossing one of the gardens, the largest one. He had to be quick in the dovecote, lest someone would begin to harbor suspicions.

The shrubbery was mocking him with its brilliant, rich greens, and the flowers were singing with their vibrant reds and purples and yellows. They were fat with water, like everything else within the palace walls.  
What was the purpose of his gardens and pools and baths? The greener the gardens, the more the leaves rustled how everything outside was sand. The more water Rin spilled, the more it whispered of drought. He spilled it more and more again, all to say, “No, no, that is not so, you lie. There is water in abundance. Look how much water there is.” And the water said back to him, “The fountains are dry, the water in the aqueduct is yellow and muddy.” He poured more water still, until it said nothing, until it became unassuming, like a pleasant hum about childhood and abundance and Haru.  
Until at last it became a memory of the times before all the curses had begun.

How had it come to this?

Rin shielded his eyes from the sunrays. “Too bright.” The birds were too loud in his ears. It was the cursed sun that was forcing his eyes to twitch and shed tears. “Too bright.”

There at the brink of the garden, two dovecotes towered, each with myriad openings for the birds, and with smaller wooden structures on the top. There were three more dovecotes at the other side of the palace, and those were designed more specifically for carriers with military and diplomatic use.

The breeder kneeled before Rin, and as per agreement, Rin slipped a few coins into the breeder’s hand.  
“Meerza is always merciful,” said the man and smiled under his grey moustache.  
Inside the vast towers, some pigeons were cooing on their ledges, and occasionally one or two fluttered their wings. A few others were caged.  
The old man shook his head. Then to make sure, he climbed the ladder and searched inside the cubicles. More pigeons flew around.  
He shook his head again when he descended. No doves returned, no messages. Yet his contact, Amameera, should have sent news by now.

“Is it possible that anyone came and took the dove?” said Rin.

The man kneeled again and extended his old arms as if to pray. “This servant of yours wouldn’t have let them.”

Was the man lying? It didn’t seem so.  
Then had the message been intercepted? Had something happened? Should he bind a message to one of Amameera’s pigeons and set it free? That would be a waste, since only two of Ama’s pigeons were still kept in the dovecote.

Rin hurried back to the gardens.  
Nearby, one of the several tiny, peripheral fountains was drizzling water into the air. Rin watched it fall back into the star-shaped basin. He came close, kneeled, and dipped his hand into the water basin.

‘What am I to do?’ he thought. He clapped against the water, sending around a violent line of jets. Droplets splashed over his clothes and face. He hit it harshly, as if to punch it. The basin was shallow, not even up to Rin’s elbow, and soon Rin’s hand touched the bottom. His sleeve floated freely on the water surface. Next to it, a rippled, distorted face of the Prince was glaring from the water back at Rin.

“Here you are, Meerza,” someone said.

Rin recognized the voice and therefore turned around without worrying.

Nizamat bowed. He was winded, as if he had been running around the palace in search for Rin. Yes, he certainly had been running. He took his cap down and stroked his short grey hair backwards. He was too young for grey hair, younger than Rin, even.

“Ah, so hot,” Nizamat said. He stooped down and rested his hands on his thighs. “Princes Gohar would like to know if the Marid Sha’ir should be accommodated in the guest chambers now that has awakened.”

“No, he will remain where he is,” Rin said. He squeezed the water out of his sleeve.

Nizamat shifted from one foot to the other and added in a whisper, “Rumors began to spread that Meerza is keeping a lover in his rooms.”

Rin got up and laughed. “Do not concern yourself with that.” It was truer than he cared to admit to anyone, and truer than he cared to deny. He added then, “And something else. Search through the scrolls in the Southwest section and find something for me.”

“What do you mean, my Prince?” Nizamat straightened his back. “The sealed part of the Sultan’s library? But didn’t you say it should not be opened again?” He brought his right hand to his mouth in surprise and began biting his nails. “No, don’t tell me my Prince means to search for the siren’s flower the same way Sultan Rinaz II did, to continue his experiments?” He grabbed both Rin’s arms. “Please, my Prince, please, reconsider. I beg of you.”

Rin tore free from the grip. “What are you talking about?”  
Nizamat cowered, and Rin lowered his own voice, for it had been too loud. “I just need the tale of the siren’s flower. It’s been written according to the Marids’ recounting long time ago, and I think I’d like to read it again now that the Sha’ir has returned. Tsk, why must I explain myself to you?”

Nizamat looked as though he might cry, with watery eyes and all. “Forgive my insolence.” He went down to his knees. “This servant did wrong. I will find it. I will find it quickly, even if I have to turn the cursed library outside down. I mean it’s not…not cursed…Forgive me, be merciful, my Prince.”

“I know they call it the ‘Cursed Library,’” said Rin, and his voice rose on its own. It rose like bile up his gorge, and he was powerless to stop it. “They call it ‘Halls of Evil Spirits,’ I know. I know. I know they whisper about demons still walking my father’s rooms.” He found himself out of breath and with his throat dry. “If you worry I’ll be like my father, why did you agree to serve me? You should rather spend more time on your books, or gang against me with the other scholars. I’m sure you can give them some precious details about my everyday life.”

“I would never betray my Prince, I’m only worried,” said Nizamat, lifting his face up. He was indeed weeping. “I’ve always admired you.”

Rin held back from smacking Nizamat across his scholarly cap. “What is there to admire?”

Nizamat stood up again. “The truth is, I was there during your first public discussion of the basic philosophical principles, and you cited and interpreted the old sages in such a brilliant manner.”

“What?” said Rin.

“Yes,” Nizamat said. He was smiling now. “You spoke with the wisdom of an adult, no, of a philosopher, and I felt…I don’t know. You were radiant. I saw clearly the difference between a man like me and my Prince. My comprehension was so small in comparison to Meerza’s. It’s…In that instant I knew that you’d be a good ruler.”

“That was nothing,” said Rin. “It’s a thing of the past.”  
It was humiliating to think about it now. He had mostly combined what Amameera and Ghorozang had had been telling him at the time, and he had borrowed Amameera’s ideas and even her style and favorite citations. With the grace of a monkey mimicking the actions of a sage, he had been displaying someone else’s intelligence, not his own.  
“It’s really nothing,” Rin said.

Amameera had been proud, though. Why had she been so happy? She had told him he had exceeded her expectations. She had never expected Rin to understand all the nuances of the early philosophers, even less to agree with her ideas, so she had said. She had laughed and praised Rin for twisting the scholars’ arguments until they had had none left for rebuttal. If he thought of it now, Amameera had probably seen that as her personal victory, since the scholars had refused to admit women into their ranks.

“Are you all right, Rinaz Effendi?” said Nizamat.

“What? Yes, I was merely thinking…” Rin said, pulling up his sleeve. “…that I need to change my clothing.”

He visited the baths briefly, changed clothes, and dined in one of his other chambers, while Nizamat waited on him. He felt better suited to approach Haru after that. With a fresh change of clothes and his stomach full, his head felt clearer.

One way or another, Rin needed to get his hands on the siren’s flower, and all the other questions and doubts could wait.

He met Gohar inside his quarters, on the corridor, and from her clothes it seemed that she had barely returned. She pulled the veil from her face.

“Ah, so here you are,” Gohar said. “Well, I’ll…I’ll just…”

“What is it?”said Rin, walking toward her.

Gohar smiled, but her face remained tense. “Nothing.”

It was too obvious that she was hiding something.

“What is it?” Rin repeated.

“Mother sends her regards,” said Gohar.

“Mother?” Rin halted midstep. “I told you not to visit her anymore. Did she say something to you?”

Gohar’s eyes twitched, and quickly she cast her gaze down at her feet. “No, no, nothing.”

“You don’t lie well,” Rin said. “Don’t pay heed to her words. Just leave her to her hookah and her misery. I gave you permission to walk freely wherever you want, so you don’t have to be with her in the women’s quarters. Let her be.”

First she wanted out of those quarters, and now did she want back in? Why, after she had noticed that nothing good would come of speaking with mother?

“But I wanted to gain her favor,” said Gohar. “Her influence will be useful when you’ll try to pull more courtiers to your…”

“I don’t care about her influence,” Rin said. “Let her be, Gohar, and leave such things to me. Do you understand? Don’t meddle with things that are not your concern. I will take care of everything.”

Gohar still didn’t look convinced, for she played with her bracelets, and said only, “Hm. If you say so, brother.”

“I do say so,” Rin said. She told him not to worry, but she herself worried more than him, as though Rin couldn’t do a thing on his own. “I will take care of you. You can be free as you asked. Decide your own path and your own husband as you wanted, and when you’ll have children, I will raise one to be sultan. So leave her poisonous den alone.”

Wasn’t that what they had agreed upon?

Gohar pursed her lips in displeasure. “I’m not thinking of sons and daughters yet, brother. And how are you not of my concern? Are you afraid I’ll turn against you? Trust me a little bit more. I want to be of use to you.”

“You are,” said Rin, “You already are.”

Perhaps she would never understand that he felt more at ease knowing that she was safe. And for every mistake he did and every shame he suffered, he preferred her not to see it.

Rin glanced toward the chamber where Haru was, or at least was supposed to be.

“Where is Haru now?” he said.

“Still in your bedroom, I shall think,” Gohar said.

In an instant, fright washed over him. If Gohar had been with mother, and Nizamat had been with him, then Haru had been alone for some time. If Haru had done something, or if someone had done something to Haru… If Haru had wandered outside Rin’s quarters and gotten lost in the palace…and someone found him… Or if his condition had worsened….

Rin dashed across the corridor.

Gohar called after him, “Don’t worry, there are guards in the front and…”

…and Rin wasn’t listening anymore.

He barged into his bedroom.

“Haru,” he called.

His bed was empty, the sheets creased.


	4. A Beggar in Silk and Brocade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I have a horrid flu, so this chapter has been a real pain to finish/edit, and it took more time than it should have.  
> I hope I've caught all (or at least most of) the mistakes. I think I'm forgetting something, but I can't remember what. 
> 
> Thank you for reading the fic! :)

 

 

“Haru,” said Rin. He ran to the bed and touched the sheets. They were cold.  
He fell down to his knees. Barely had they met again, barely had they spoken and touched, and now…hundreds of different thoughts ruptured his mind. What now?

“Yes?” said a voice.

His entire body wash with both apprehension and relief, Rin followed the voice to its origin.

In front of the window, there stood Haru’s silhouette, covered in part by the curtains, and in part embraced by the sunlight like a halo.

He was there, Haru was there.

For some time both of them kept silent.

“You’re here,” Rin said. He felt ridiculous.

He joined Haru at the window. Since he needed to verify with his own hands in order to believe, he touched Haru’s arms, and found comfort in their warm, solid nature. The skin was soft, fresh to the touch. The rashes were gone. Not wishful thinking, not a dream; Haru was still here.

“Yes, I’m here,” said Haru. “Should I be somewhere else?”  
Something about him was different than a few days ago; he looked more composed, the expression on his face seemed more guarded and almost impervious to Rin’s gaze. He didn’t even seem ill anymore. How?

Rin touched Haru’s face, as well, and this time Haru let out an unguarded, almost startled sigh.

 

“See, brother, I told you he was here,” called Gohar from the entrance and added for Haru, “He was worried that something might have happened to you.”

Haru glanced at Rin, waiting for confirmation.

“Not really,” Rin said and let his hand fall down. “Not at all.”

Though he couldn’t discern well the reason, it bothered him that Haru should know. It was akin to giving away power for free, perhaps, and whenever something, or someone held power over him, Rin felt trapped and weak. He couldn’t stand being at Haru’s mercy, even less pity.

“I need to speak with him,” Rin said to Gohar.

Gohar smiled. “Right.” She turned around and pushed Nizamat out, across the doorstep. Until now Rin hadn’t even noticed him behind Gohar.

Rin gnawed at his lips, not knowing quite what to say. “Should you be out of bed?”

Haru shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because…do you feel well?”

Haru donned a new set of clothing, palace-made, though it resembled his previous one in all. He glimpsed at Rin’s talwar, but said nothing of it.

“You should stay in bed if you don’t feel well,” said Rin.

“I’m all right,” Haru said.  
Indeed he did not resemble a person afflicted by sickness anymore. Now Haru’s skin looked clear, no sign of fatigue or thirst, and his lips were plump and moist. Even his hair had a healthy sheen.  
How could that be? Nizamat must have helped him wash, but that couldn’t have been all. This very morning Haru had seemed gravely ill.

“Have you healed? Is it the Marid magic that cured you so quickly?” said Rin. It must have been so.

“Which way is to the pool?”said Haru.

“I can lead you to the baths, too, if you prefer.” Rin attempted a smile, but felt strange in doing so. He had become more accustomed to giving orders and stern looks. “Have you eaten?”

Haru tilted his head. “The pool will do.”

“Anything else? Is there anything you want?” Rin said. He swallowed down. The thought that Haru might disappear out of his own will, or by the plots of someone else, still assailed him. It made him eager to secure any kind of agreement to tie Haru by his side.

Haru shook his head.

Liar. Rin would not be driven off this easily.  
“Nothing at all?” he said.

Haru shrugged. “Mackerel.”

“Mackerel? To eat?” Rin waved his hand. “Of course, starting tomorrow you’ll have as many as you want.”  
Salted, dried mackerel was harder to procure these days, but far from impossible for the right price.

Haru glanced outside the window, and Rin trailed his gaze. In the inner gardens, the pool was reflecting the sunlight. Water, of course.

“Anything else?” Rin folded his arms. “If you perform the water ritual and open our water source, you will be rewarded handsomely. You were called Keeper of Keepers in your tribe, are you not? I will give you something better. You will be one of my ministers, the Keeper of Water. You will want for nothing, especially water.”

“That’s not it,” said Haru.

“Think of all the good you could do in such position with your powers,” Rin added quickly. “And you may pick the most precious item from my treasury.”

Haru’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your coins.”

Liar. Surely Haru would agree to have some prize.  
‘Every man has a price.’

“I have pearls of the size of an ox's eye, and diamonds of the size of a fist,” Rin said. He moved to the side to catch Haru’s gaze, but Haru looked away.

“I have golden chains long enough to embrace the city walls of Alamas,” Rin continued. “You may have my fastest horse, or an entourage of camels and servants. Your people may be free of any tax again.”

Haru showed no sign to be listening. Stubbornly, with a bored expression on his face, he avoided Rin’s eyes.

“Do you hear me?” Rin said. Had a camel chewed Haru’s tongue and ears off? “Speak.” Rin’s hands were prickling with the need to grab Haru by the shoulders and force him to look up. He unfolded his arms and clenched his fists to crush the impatience. “Tell me, and it shall be yours. All the water you may need and more; palaces, diamonds, and titles.”

Haru shook his head. “That is not what I desire.”

“What do you desire, then?” said Rin. “I can give you anything.”

“Anything but what I truly want.” Haru put his headcover and his shawl on and began walking toward the door, without even excusing himself.

“Wait, just tell me what,” Rin called after him, “Where are you going?”

Haru had the manners of a donkey, and the same wit. He was heading out without saying a word. Where was he going now? The pool or in search of the exit?

Rin’s cheek flushed with humiliation. “Don’t mock me,” he said through clenched teeth.

Haru had not changed a bit. Those restrained and composed manners of his, the quiet disdain of the superior player in the game, even, those traits Rin had detested and envied enough to emulate more than once. Though he had tried, Rin had never managed to achieve Haru's indifference, no, his detachment was all front and no substance, as though the dunes outside Alamas could pretend that the pain of sun did not affect them. Yet the sands were searing by day, but cold by night, so night he'd always be.

In the palace, it was always a game of wanting while not having, a game of bargaining.  
Perhaps Rin had been too generous with his offers, too open, and too trusting, thinking Haru would be different. As if Haru had ever treated Rin as someone worthy of attention, as his equal. Haru was the commander of spirits, and what a common Prince had to offer was dirt at Haru’s feet. Dirt.

‘You’ll see,’ thought Rin. ‘You’ll see. I’ll show you I’m your better, and then you will beg me. We’ll bargain at my terms, and my terms you will accept.’

Rin began to march briskly, so he surpassed Haru and walked in front of him. “Let me show you to the pool,” he said to distract Haru. “You can visit that one any time, since it belongs to my private quarters. I’ll assign one guard to follow and protect you, so while you’re inside my part of the palace, you may go to swim whenever you like.”

“Do I need a guard?” said Haru. “You don’t have one.”  
Judging by those words, Haru hadn’t intended to leave the palace. That was good.

“Technically speaking, I have all the guards within the palace,” said Rin, “If you want me to hire one of your Marid men to act as your personal guard, it may be done. I don’t know where they are, but any of the Marids will be more than welcome here.”

Haru didn't react as Rin had hoped, and in fact he didn't react at all.

“There are more Marid tribe men still in Sarimah, are there not?” said Rin.

Haru pulled his shawl over his mouth.

“Try remembering the path to the gardens, so you won’t lose your way,” Rin said. He started explaining which way were the baths, what were the names of the chambers and halls they passed by. He had done the same thing before, years ago, and now, unsure of what else to do, he repeated his actions. The memories brought a twisted, nostalgic feeling to his stomach. Was he a fool for hanging on a short memory, and was he the only one?

“On one side of the gardens, there are the main palace walls, and the walls of my quarters around it, so here all eyes and ears belong to me,” Rin said. They should, at least. His tongue felt heavy. “Outside is a different matter, but here you may feel safe.” He pointed to one of the smallest libraries. “This is the Library of the Sea, and it contains journals of all kinds of travelers. I chose the name myself.”

Haru deigned the chamber’s door with a passing glance only.

Rin bit his lips. He could not converse this way anymore. He was a cheerful child no more, so why should he pretend? He crossed his arms and resigned himself to silence.

 

As soon as they entered the gardens, Haru ran to toward the pool, squatted, and began playing with the water with one hand. He closed his eyes as if to concentrate on the feel and sound of water alone.  
When a collard dove fluttered its wings, he looked up. His eyes followed the dove until it hid among the leaves of a tree. He had done the same the last time at the pool.

"You like birds," said Rin. "I can procure you the most exotic bird with the most beautiful plumage and the most charming of songs. Just say it."

Haru looked down at his hand in the water. "Freedom. I like freedom."

Why couldn’t he desire something Rin could actually give?

“Freedom is a construct of feeble minds that refuse to accept the reality for what it is,” Rin said. “Barriers are a part of life, the bigger part of it, perhaps. You see it yourself, don’t you, how childish it is to wish for the unattainable.”  
He kept for himself, of course, that his mind was just one of those, indulging in the idea of having what could not be had. Councilors and taxes, the threat of war and death, and the accursed drought refused to disappear, no matter how much Rin dreamed of better, freer days.

Haru’s brows knitted, and in the water his hand stilled.

Rin crouched next to Haru. Their reflected images in the pool were showing a picture of two people who were close and intimate, a dream in the water.

“It doesn’t matter what you wish for, only what you achieve,” Rin said. “By that everyone will judge you, so every action is better than a hundred dreams.”He draped one arm around Haru’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “Join my cause,” he whispered. “It’s your cause, too. Give me the siren’s flower. Then I can give you everything. I’ll give you a sight you’ve never seen, I promise, and all generations to come will sing your name in praise. Stay with me.”

Though clad in silk and brocade, again he was a beggar, a street seller without wares. At least without the wares Haru wanted.

Haru looked at him without pulling his hand out of the water. His lips parted ever so slightly, and the mere sight set Rin’s heart and stomach aflutter. For a moment or two, Rin held his breath. Images of how those lips had touched and sucked at the tips of his fingers came to him, and with his blood, now such visions slithered their path from his head down to his groin.

Everything, every minute change of Haru's expression, from the blink of his eyelids and the flicker of his lashes, to his uncertain, faltering gaze, to the crease of his lips, and the quick, tense rise and fall of Haru's chest, everything was temptation. He wished to push Haru down and drink him up as the sands would drink the water.

Instead he kissed the corner of Haru’s lips.

The desire to own and claim, to possess, surged throughout him. To possess and be everything. He wanted to be like air and water and like Haru, or perhaps to be air and water and to be Haru.

Gently he turned Haru so they faced each other. Thus Haru waited without moving and in the same position, his hand still resting at the brink, in the water. He pulled his shawl down with the other hand, revealing his lips, and his mouth became a line of anxiousness and expectations, or so it seemed to Rin. The sunrays highlighted the limpid color of his eyes. Then slowly, as though it were an afterthought of which he was not sure, Haru placed his lips on Rin’s.

For a moment, the presence of Rin’s mind went blank, turned clean, and he could be day and night, and nothing and everything at the same time.

He bit into Haru’s lips and pried them open. His tongue probed past them, inside Haru’s mouth, trying to taste the shape of Haru’s teeth, to rake the flavor of Haru’s tongue. Without breaking the kiss, he drew closer still and sat down. He pulled Haru so he would sit in Rin’s lap. Apparently Haru didn’t understand, for Rin felt one of Haru’s knees between his own, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. Haru’s lips were smooth and pithy. They rubbed round Rin’s mouth, opening for Rin’s tongue.  
Under his closed eyelids, Rin saw blotches and rings of color, and his hands went to loosen Haru’s shawl. They cupped Haru’s face.  
Without any shame, fever straggled from the center of Rin’s stomach up and down, as water-fat trees spread their hungry roots and branches inside the gardens. He felt Haru’s wet hand cling to his arm. Then Haru’s body turned rigid, Rin could sense it by the posture and the tensed muscles of Haru’s jaw. With his fingers, Rin peered into the folds of Haru’s shawl and brushed the side of his neck. A whimper slipped from Haru’s mouth, a weird, sweet sound onto Rin’s lips. It set Rin’s nerves alight.

He kissed and pulled on Haru’s lower lip, and caressed the upper lip with his tongue. Haru tilted his head and let him. When Rin pushed inside Haru’s mouth again, Haru responded by twining his tongue with Rin and following Rin’s motions.

One hand wet, the other dry, Haru fumbled down Rin’s torso. In the time for one small thought to pass Rin’s head, ‘No, he’ll notice,’ Haru’s fingers were already brushing below the sash and over Rin’s sirwal, cumulating the pleasure of Rin’s entire body into a single place-under Haru’s palm.

Rin gulped down a moan. For the first time he opened his eyes. He searched for a scrap of skin on Haru’s neck, and laid a myriad tiny, greedy kisses upon it. His nature came unbridled, free of the conceptions of his mind, and of his body itself. At times his breaths reverberated into a small voice, or a sloshy sound against Haru’s neck. His fingers teased Haru’s skin through the halfvest and through the pants.

He was not the Prince and not Rin anymore. Now he was a creature of fish fins and eagle wings, a creature that would not listen to denial, as a desert tempest, or its airborne sand, light and sharp like wind itself, would not, could not listen.  
He could take whatever he wanted, and everything he wanted would be given to him. None other but Haru would do.  
Voraciously like fire he’d move, and unstoppable he was as the sun, which kissed everything, and brought life, and destroyed everything with its mere touch, by its existence alone. His name was cursed, how could have he forgotten?

He wished to grind the salt of Haru’s sweat in his mouth, drag his teeth along Haru sinews, and let him come undone by the same need that Rin felt. He wished to set everything right. Then there would be no need for silences and doubts between him and Haru.

“Haru,” he said. It took too much strength to speak and be still. He did it nevertheless. “Haru, stay with me, and let’s change this, let’s change this country. Please, perform the water ritual, I beg of you.”

Haru watched him intently, as though to pry all thoughts from Rin’s eyes. The skin on his cheekbones shone rosy. His breathing was calming down. He stood quiet and immobile for too long, and Rin sensed a lump forming in his own throat. No, he wouldn't cry.

“Say yes, say yes,” Rin whispered.

Haru made a small nod with his head. His lips uttered a feeble, almost inaudible, “Yes.”

Then he brushed Rin’s hands off with a gentle motion, got on his feet, and corrected the folds of his pants. “Then let us go.”

“What?” said Rin. He was sitting in confusion, with his body ready to either slump, or spring up. The warmth of Haru’s body gave way to the blinding heat of the sun.

Haru’s voice trembled. “You want the siren’s flower, so you shall meet again the other Marids.”

“Now?” Rin said. Now? He would sit until he’d manage to school his body into obedience and therefore calmness.

“Now,” Haru repeated. His head jerked into the direction of the flitting birds. They flew over the garden walls.

Rin sighed.

Above him, Haru’s figure was beautiful, enchanting against the blue sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is why I don't write summaries.
> 
> The summary of this chapter would read:   
> Chapter IV, in which Rin gains one thing he wants, but loses another.   
> Alternatively, this is the story of how Rin accidentally cockblocks himself for the good of the realm.


	5. Of Rat, Bird, and Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I'm sorry for any possible mistakes in the text.

 

 

The sun and the noise on the streets made Rin’s steps restless and shaky. He walked after Haru. With streets fairly clean, and men and women in colorful robes, Rin’s city looked nothing out of ordinary. It seemed even thriving, but Rin knew it was not so. Even here, in the wealthiest part of the city, there were signs of thirst and beggars. From the barred and guarded fountains to citizens with apathy and sadness in their eyes, the signs were too many. At least it was not the hour of water trade.

Rin had dressed as a common man, removed his golden rings and earrings, and pulled the cloth over his chin and mouth. It seemed that his robes were still too fine, however. Children followed him and asked for coins for quite a while, laughing, jostling, and pushing their small hands toward Rin, but eventually they gave up.

Every now and then Rin glanced around to see if anyone had recognized him, or if anyone else had followed. He had only his janbiya with him to draw less attention, but perhaps he should have taken a sword as well.  
Did Haru even know how to fight and protect himself? Since he had survived so far, he should. Hopefully. Rin tried to remember why he had thought it a good idea to go under guise and without escort. It was to favor freedom of movements and actions and to prevent spying, but it seemed reckless now.

“Where are we going?” said Rin.

Haru said without looking back, “To greet my tribe men.”

“No,” said Rin, “which part of the Alamas?”

It crossed his mind too late that the Marids might be residing beyond the Broken Gate, as it was now commonly called, on the streets among the wretched beggars and criminals and freaks, where the city guards had difficulties maintaining order and peace.

“Around that big bazaar,” said Haru.

Rin sighed out in relief. He had visited the Paupers’ End no more than four times, and he didn’t care to make a fifth. Many of Amameera’s contacts lived there, and Ama herself, but in all honesty that district was not under Rin’s jurisdiction. It would not welcome him. At best it would greet him with ill memories.

He feared this day was also one of those, when a single event, a single action might ruin everything.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.

He shook his head at Haru. “Nothing, I was just talking to myself.”

In truth he was talking to his memories.

“Sometimes, one single action may change the fate of a person,” Amameera had told him. “Your fear had killed this boy, so learn what can be learned from this, and don’t let this lesson take another try.”

Of course, back then he shouldn’t have ventured to the Paupers’ End alone. Of course, he should have seen the boy meant him no ill. And of course, escaped war slaves were met with death anyway, so what did it matter? Rin didn’t even know his name, but Ama did, for he had been one of her Rats. Fact stood that the boy was dead not because of laws, but because of Rin’s boastfulness, backed up only by his inexperience and fear. Rin hadn’t known until then, how quickly someone untrained could fall. How red, and omnipresent was the blood of a real person, how it gushed from a fatal wound. The sounds of a dying person were still writ on the inside of his ears, and sometimes when it was silent enough, the wind would read them back to Rin.

He had never told of it to anyone else, but the sun was always watching. The cursed sun knew and kept punishing Rin again and again.  
Many a warrior said that one could never forget his first kill, but that was meant during a proper battle, not an accidental murder between two overbearing, boastful kids. While warriors could boast of victories, he could boast only of that, a single murder. As though Rin’s cursed hands could only bring evil, not good, he found himself unable to right any wrong. That’s why he needed Haru. Haru was his opposite, his solution. Yet to Haru, had he ever brought more than misfortune? What would he bring today?

 

The Crescent Bazaar was half asleep at noon, but its stalls and shops were far from deserted.  
Merchants were selling skins of various animals; sheep, goats, even tigers. Bales of wool, flax, and silk fabric were spreading into a sea of colors. Criers were lauding the endurance and the gentleness of their camels. Golden wares, rugs, spices, pottery, donkeys, strange gizmos, even tiny monkeys; everything could be bought, and often easier than water.

Haru pushed through the crowd of people, and Rin followed.  
A young man in bedraggled clothes bumped into Rin, squeezed Rin's hand, and murmured in a detached voice, "Beg your forgiveness, Agha."  
Rin didn't even take a good look at his face, and already the man was gone in the crowd. Was he a Rat?  
Rin opened his palm furtively, and just as he had thought, there was a message. He fixed his gaze on Haru and unrolled the scroll without looking down, as to not arouse suspicions.

There were three messages upon the tiny paper. The Queen of Rats herself was sending her regards.

The writings were penned down in the crude letters of one of the northern alphabets in order to elude or at least confuse uninvited eyes.

The first message read:  
"Crested fish reached the desert pond."

Rin glimpsed again at Haru's back in front of him. Although among other people, the distance between them was still small enough, and he would not lose Haru.

'I know. I have the fish,' he thought. 'Soon I'll have a school of fish, and I will need only water.'

Haru stopped before the birdcages, where pigeons cooed, and other, smaller and prettier birds showed off their feathers.

Rin stopped for a moment and looked down. "The scorpion refuses," said the next message.

'Then I am still safe,' thought Rin. It was strange to think that Uncle Jaleel, his Vizier and biggest contender, his most cunning adversary was also the wall that stood between Rin and assassination.  
It would be nice if he could guess the Vizier's thoughts and prepare for them.

Haru turned back and locked his eyes with Rin.

Rin hastened after him. “Which one?” he said.

Haru blinked.

“The birds. Which is the prettiest?” Rin said.

Haru shrugged. Rin waited. Haru lowered his back, looked through the cages, and finally pointed at a simple black one.

Rin nodded to the merchant. “Then this I’ll buy.”

The burly woman smiled, caught the bird in the cage, and transferred it to a smaller one, all the while exaggerating the bird’s rareness and special qualities. She explained at length how difficult the transport of the bird had been. She demanded a price that even Rin thought was impossible, and thus he spent some time reducing it to a more sensible one.

At last she handed him a cage with the little black bird. Rin looked at Haru. Now what with it? By impulse, he didn’t offer it to Haru, but instead opened the little door and rattled the cage.

The bird flitted around the wooden bars. Then it found the opening and flew out. It made an unsure, clumsy circle, turned heavenwards, and already it was gone over the rooftops, somewhere into the blue.

Rin returned the cage to the merchant.  
Haru was watching without words, his azure eyes widened a bit, and by merely looking into them, Rin couldn’t scry the reflection of Haru’s thoughts.  
What a stupid gesture, freeing some random bird for Haru. It didn’t change anything. A wave of heat passed around his cheeks and ears. What a misguided idealistic, amorous gesture that Rin had overgrown, should have overgrown years ago. He coughed. The piece of paper still lay crumpled in his palm.

“Let’s move,” he said.

Haru did, while his gaze still followed the roofs.

There was one last sentence on the paper."Why not exchange your wings with mine?"

He needed to breathe in. The words had not been written in regard to Haru, but their impact was not any lesser for it. As though the bars were caging Rin’s heart and boring right into his flesh, it hurt. It seemed that the entire world spoke of Haru. Always of Haru. For an instant he felt as if he were a small, ignorant, and happy child again, but he was not a child anymore. All that was gone. The past was gone. It did not exist anymore. Then how could an inexistent thing crush his chest with such force?

The message was asking a simple thing. Amameera was asking. She was asking why Rin hadn’t replied to her messages, obviously, which meant she must have sent him a dove, though Rin had received none. Or perhaps she was only suggesting they exchange the pigeon carriers again for future correspondence, and this was not an inquiry about Rin’s lack of response, nor a hint on lost or intercepted messages. There was nothing to denote at the way of exchange, however. He’d have to send a message when he’d return to the palace. Hopefully it would reach her.

Rin hid the piece of paper between the folds of his clothes. His cold, practical senses were returning to him. His mind began to work again.  
If Amameera’s Rat had found Rin so easily, others might just as well. Rin bit into his lower lip. The Rat had probably followed him already from the moment Rin had exited the palace, and Rin hadn’t noticed at all. He had been completely oblivious.  
He scanned his surroundings quickly, but nobody in the vicinity seemed too familiar or too suspicious.

“You’re slow,” said Haru. He turned into one of the smaller alleys around the bazaar, where the rent was also smaller. The lowest floors of the houses were fitted as shops, and the windows served as a way to interact with customers.  
There Haru paused. He looked at Rin fleetly, forming words he wouldn’t say, as though asking for help or a little push forward.

“Well.” Rin nudged Haru on the back. “I have a dagger should you need it.”

Haru approached a merchant with pottery wares, and the merchant’s mouth hung open. His black and white over-robe bore the embellishments with Marid tribal patterns, and Rin felt a jolt skip down his spine. It was the truth, then, that the Marids still lived. Not only that, they lived right here in Alamas. Rin and his father were not destroyers of all. The Marid tribe lived. He felt the excitement of a new beginning, of setting things right, of starting something better.

“Haru,” the merchant said. His soft, green eyes half-closed with a smile. Though he did not appear violent, that might still change once he would learn that Haru’s companion was none but the Prince. What would he say then?

The Marid man ran out of the shop and kissed Haru upon the brow. Rin had known about such custom among the Marids, but as he stood thus at Haru’s side, some weird, unwelcome emptiness crept inside him.

“I knew you were still alive,” the man said. Up close he looked familiar; perhaps Rin had met him with the other Marids in the past.

Only then the man noticed Rin.

“That’s Rin,” said Haru.

The man greeted Rin with a pleasant smile and a bow. “My name is Makeen.”

Rin nodded his head.

“It is my pleasure to reencounter you,” Makeen said.

Did he recognize Rin? Did he know? Rin didn’t find the courage to ask.

“I see why you were gone,” Makeen said to Haru. “I see why you are here. Little Nagi is down the street, shall we go?”

They went.

The next Marid was a scrawny man with sun-bleached hair and enough jewelry to seem a bride on her wedding day. In fact, the moon-shaped earring was precisely like the adornment that brides in Sarimah commonly wore during wedding. He wore a silken veil on his head as well. He was dancing in the street, in front of a stall with fruit and vegetables. As soon as he saw them, he waved his hands frantically. “Little Haru,” the man called. Barefoot he ran down the street.

He shook both Haru’s hands and hugged him. “Where have you been all this time? Where?” He puffed his cheeks. “You made us worry.” He kissed Haru on the forehead, and then he did the same with Makeen, and Rin felt like a stray cat on the streets.

“I’ve told you Nagi would be glad,” Makeen said.

So that was his name.

Nagi was grinning.  
How old was he? He looked younger and smaller than Haru, with slender, almost feminine features, but he didn’t look so young that he should behave like a child, or a fool.

Nagi looked at Rin. “Who is that?” he said.

“Rin,” said Haru. “And don’t call me that, I’m not little.”

“Ah,” said Nagi. “Then good to meet you, little Rin.” He embraced Rin and patted him on the back. His hair carried the smell of smoke and cardamom and some more indiscernible smells of the streets. “Good to meet you,” said Nagi. “I’m Nagi, don’t you forget.”

Impudent brat. How dare he touch him like that?

Before Rin could say anything, Nagi had already turned to Haru. “Has Little Maki told you about Little Rayn? He’s a bit farther from here, but he will be so happy to meet you again. Wait here.”

He exchanged a few words with a woman inside a shop.

Grinning, he skipped toward Rin. He first shook his leather slippers and then hit them one against the other. A bit of sand fell out.

“Take this.” He pushed his shoes into Rin’s hands.

“What?” said Rin.  
Nagi already lifted one foot and rubbed its sole against the ankle of his other leg.  
The slippers were worn out and sandy, and there was not one good reason why they should be sullying Rin’s hands.  
Nagi even grabbed Rin’s arm for support. “Just a moment.”  
He took one slipper from Rin’s hands and put it on, and then repeated the same for his other foot.

“Thanks, little Rin.” Nagi jumped up. “Now we should go to see Rayn. Let’s go, let’s go.” He began marching forward. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

“What’s wrong with him?” said Rin in a low voice, but Haru merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “Nothing.”

“How old is he to behave like that?” Rin said, louder this time.

“Our same age,” said Makeen. Both he and Haru seemed unperturbed.

“The same age?”said Rin. “He’s certainly not my same age. With such rude, childish attitude, how would he even get a living?”

“Well,” said Makeen, “he is good at selling to people on streets, and well liked by many.”

“Really?” said Rin. It was almost funny that a bratty street seller was well liked, apparently, while Rin, the Crown Prince, who protected the land, was not. He laughed to himself.  
Was he trying to bring the land back to prosperity with the help of people such as these? Haru, a stubborn, taciturn mule, and this Nagi, a street seller, a kid in the body of a man? At least Makeen seemed a reasonable man, but that would not be enough to appease the uncles and the other nobles. Indeed, the entire nobility would snicker and cackle when Rin would bring such uncouth vagabonds to the palace, and present them as saviors, as members of the tribe with mythical powers. Yet the fate of Sarimah depended on stubborn mules and brats.

Rin laughed out loud.

Nagi spun on his feet, and for a brief instant his eyes were narrow and sharp. “It’s rude to speak behind someone’s back.” Then he puckered his lips and crossed his arms. “I won’t like you if you do that, little Rin. And you too, Makeen.”

“You’re right,” said Makeen. “It’s unseemly to speak behind someone’s back. It is my fault, I apologize.”  
Too meek. If he was going to admit his faults so easily in front of the palace scholars, they would rip him apart. That obviously meant they would rip apart the Crown Prince as well, for putting his trust into the Marids.

Nagi hugged Makeen around the waist. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

They walked until Rin’s legs hurt. Unintentionally he kept falling a few steps behind the other three, who talked about things Rin knew nothing about. Nagi’s laugh was especially loud and irritating. As he spoke, it was Little Haru this, little Maki that. Then this about little Rayn, that about little Rayn. From time to time he turned around. Little Rin this, little Rin that, tell me, tell me.

Childish brat.

At one point Nagi began waving and jumping. “There, there,” he said.

A guard waved back and even left his post. He must have been the Marid that Nagi had been talking about. Rayn. Rayn twitched as he saw Rin. He prostrated himself on the ground. “I humbly greet you, Rinaz III Meerza, Ruler of Alamas, Crown Prince of…”

“Stupid, shut up.” Rin walked to the idiot and pulled him up. “Do not mention my name on the streets again if you want to live,” he said through his gritted teeth. He turned to the passersby. “What are you looking at?”

“Ah, yes, as you command, Pri…yes,” said Rayn and dusted his clothes. His white pants remained stained with sand and dirt. He looked vaguely familiar, as well. The spectacles perhaps, where had Rin seen them? Rin took note of Rayn’s musket, which was unusual in itself, but the musket bore decorations different than the ones that belonged to the imperial soldiers. The construction didn’t match the imperial muskets either.

Nagi pulled Rayn into a hug, kissed his brow twice, and released him. “See, I told you we’d all meet again, see?” Then he scratched his chin, whilst other Marids greeted each other. “You’re the Prince, little Rin? I thought the Prince would be different, with a different aura around him and all that. And where is your entourage, little Rin, don’t you have any?”

Rin shot him an angry look. Even a street brat like this one had no respect for the Prince, and Haru said nothing, not a word of reproach.

“But that means we know each other,” said Nagi. “We met, do you remember?”

As if Rin would remember every insignificant person he had ever met.

“No,” said Rin, and Nagi laughed, saying, “Well, I don’t either.”

What a silly person. It was not important now, since Rin needed their cooperation and obedience more than their reverence.

“Are there any others beside you?” he said.

Makeen exchanged a glance with Haru, and sighed. “We do not know their whereabouts nor how many of them still...still live.”

“I see,” Rin said. So few remained, then. A school of fish dispersed by sharks.  
For an instant he closed his eyes to drive away the guilt. Later on he could send voice to all the cities to rally all the Marid people, but perhaps it was better for now to keep a smaller number of these tribe men, so it would unlikely that they would organize against him. He’d also have to make sure no other king gathered together some of the other Marids and proclaimed one of them as the Sha’ir, as the poet and commander of water spirits. Haru was the true Sha’ir, but how many people knew that? Rin would have to give proof through Haru’s magic. He needed Haru.

“Is there any secluded place around here?”Rin said. “I would not speak of this openly on the streets.” Besides that, he needed to say it before taking them to the palace, before other officials would try to sway the Marids to serve someone else.

Rayn lead them into what might have been a resting room he was sharing with other guards. It was small and with several cushions cramped instead of beds. Rayn asked the other guards to leave for a bit, and while they didn’t appear thrilled by the proposition, they did so.

“Now you can talk, little Rin,” said Nagi.

Indeed, this was the time.

Rin began speaking in low voice, so as not to alert anyone beside Haru and his tribe, or what remained of it. He kneeled in front of them.  
“I summon you, sons of the marids, with the rank that has been bestowed upon me. Hearken to my humble request. I summon you to my side to help me protect the waters of this land.”

“That was pretty, little Rin,” said Nagi.

Rin locked his eyes with Haru’s. If Haru wouldn’t do something to educate his tribe men, sooner or later Rin would.  
Haru had been already looking at him, his eyes shining as though in rapture, and because of that alone Rin felt warmth expand inside his chest. His pulse quickened; he could sense it in the twitches of his hands and the rhythmic outbursts of colors in his vision. His breaths turned shaky and expectant. He couldn’t break the stun of Haru’s eyes even if he wanted to, and for sure he did not desire to.

“It’s an official summon,” said Rayn.

Haru tore his gaze away. The Marids gathered in circle and started whispering among themselves.

At last Makeen steeped out and kneeled in front of Rin. “We have heard your summon, Son of Kings, and to your summon we respond. May the water spirits bless your land and let the water flow across it freely.”

He had done it. Rin could laugh and call out to the skies in joy. “You are welcome to stay in my palace and drink the water from my wells,” he said.

He had done it. Now he had officially Haru by his side. Now everything would be as it was supposed to be. Laughter came by itself.

“You know, Little Rin, you laugh like a murderer,” said Nagi and slapped Rin on the back.

Rin slapped Nagi’s hand away. “That’s not how you address a Prince.”

Little Nagi giggled. “But we’re among friends now, little Rin.”

“There’s no such thing…” began Rin, but stopped because…in honesty, he didn’t know why. Perhaps he wanted to prove that he had learned the lesson. “You need to show more respect,” he said instead.

 

While they were returning to the palace, Rayn kept glancing at Rin with mistrust, and screening the streets as if guards were to jump from the nearest corner.

‘What do you know?’ thought Rin, ‘If they appear, they might bring me to the chopping block as well as you, depending on who has given the order.’

He did the same as Rayn, watched for anyone with ill intentions among the throng, but at times he caught himself searching far above the human heads, around the rooftops for a tiny black bird.


	6. Targets

The arrow strayed to the left and missed the center by the width of two palms. Rin cursed under his breath. 

“You must focus on your aim, better yet on your target,” Seyjur said. He wore his robe half-undone, so his arms could draw the bow without restrictions. “If you cloud your head with other things, you’ll never hit the center. If you don’t respect your opponent, you’ll lose. Knowing your posture and your weapon is nothing if you don’t know yourself.” He fired three arrows one after another, and each landed neatly in the center of the three targets. “How do you know yourself? You practice and learn.” 

His arms showed no tiredness from the sword sparring earlier, but Rin could not claim the same. 

Rin huffed. His opponent was naught but three wooden boards, and still they proved more cunning than him. He was out of practice.  
If he said again that it was the fault of the arrows' spine, which made them fly to the sides, Seyjur would not listen anymore. 

Rin took another arrow. From one side of the training grounds, Nizamat cheered for him and rubbed the morning cold from his hands. Inside the sandals, sand was teasing his toes, and his fingers ached with blisters.  
Rin shook his feet and took aim. A mere wooden panel could not win over him.

“Not like that, Rinaz,” Seyjur said. “You’re fighting with yourself. If you bring your worries to the battlefield, you are a dead man. You would be already dead if this were a battle.”

Precisely what Rin needed to hear. He took one deep breath. Unless he gained Seyjur’s trust and obedience, even finding Haru would be for naught. He pulled the string.

Haru.

The arrow flew and landed far from the painted center, again to the left.

Again Seyjur’s arrow hit the mark. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Yes,” Rin said. He had used to be better at archery, at least while standing. “I need water. Let me observe your pose meanwhile, and perhaps that will help.” His thoughts were in disarray, much like his arrows. 

Nizamat offered him to drink, and for a moment Rin thought he was drinking sand, so tasteless it was. 

Haru resided now with the other Marids in one of the chambers within Rin’s quarters, and only in the confinement of his own mind, Rin could admit that he missed him. 

When they were together, although among the other Marids, Rin found that Haru’s voice and scent could contain his restlessness and greed, and they were as one human to another. There was also time for silences and annoyance, as though their time were measured by an hourglass, counting each grain of sand in the desert, into infinity. 

Yet when they were apart, and Haru’s presence was not there to comfort Rin anymore, Haru became a haze and a mirage. As the poems spoke of veiled maidens, who were far, too far from the poet’s eyes and lips, such was Haru, a smoke that might disappear, a person of mysteries, in beauty equaled by neither sun nor moon.

It was reprehensible for a Prince to pine after a man whilst busy governing, but at least Rin was not the first in history to do so. Human nature and character comprised all kinds of peculiarities, or so he told himself.  
He had barely begun to understand the quirks and personalities of each Marid, and while such knowledge was necessary, it was stealing Rin’s time, and impinging on his desires.  
Attending the council was also necessary, just as convincing Seyjur was, but that left too little time for Haru, and Rin didn’t dare call upon the Sha’ir as one would upon a concubine. It would be demeaning for both, and worst of all, it might be unwelcome. 

As though his skin was about to crack and burst at the invisible seams, thus something inside him, a wailing beast, was beating and knocking at his muscles and ribcage, trying to tear out. For every kind, sweet thing he wished to say, his tongue turned heavier. He didn’t know how to approach Haru, nor what to tell the other Marids.  
Likewise Haru’s mouth was sealed, his lips closed like rosehips, and prettier than flowers. 

‘Why am I like this? Why do I feel like this?’ he thought. ‘Am I too weak? Should I be colder, harsher?’ 

He needed more control. 

Just as one philosopher had said, joy was fleeting end ephemeral, but the need for it was an ever present weakness.

“The Divan will begin the meeting soon, I must go,” Rin said. 

Seyjur made a nod in acknowledgment. 

 

Rin didn’t go to the baths before the council, instead he ordered Nizamat to merely apply a thicker layer of kohl around his eyes.

Nizamat had already prepared the papers, and bound Haru’s talwar to Rin's hip. 

“Today you will accompany me,” Rin said. His nerves were tenser than the string of his bow earlier.

Nizamat smiled. “I’ll do as my Prince says.” 

 

In Nizamat’s company Rin arrived into the Hall of Truths. There he waited until it filled up with scholars, and among their chatter he kept turning his sentences in his mind. The sun began prodding with its white hands through the window. 

Once the Vizier had indicated the beginning of the sitting, Rin stood. “Before we begin, I have cheerful news for you and for Sarimah.” 

He unbuckled the imperial sword. “I have worn this to the council for days now, but it has gone unnoticed. How many of you recognize the sword now?” 

He lifted the talwar above his head. 

A few elder scholars did recognize it. Rin thanked the spirits for keeping the elders’ sight in good condition. 

“The lost sword,” said one, “the sword of the first Sultans, the Father of Swords.” 

“Yes, it is the old imperial sword. It was returned to me because it is time. It is time for a new reign. The Sha’ir of the Marid came to me himself and said to me to start a new era.”

If Haru had or had not done such thing, the councilors would be none the wiser either way.

Vizier Jaleel bowed his head. “I have noticed the sword, Meerza, but I believed the Prince has fashioned a copy of it. Lest my memory is playing tricks on me, this does not seem the real imperial sword. Meerza should be wary of impostors claiming to be of the Marids. It is known that the Marids are gone.”

So it began. 

The scholars blustered.  
‘How many are ahead of the game?’ Rin wondered. ‘I and the Vizier only, or are there other players?’

 

Rin unsheathed the talwar. “Do you remember when I, as a five year old, played with the Father of Swords, and as it was mine, in my foolishness, I endeavored to engrave my name on the very bottom of its blade? I managed to scrape the metal in some semblance of the words.” He pointed on the blade, right above the hilt. “Now look upon it.” 

Uncle Jaleel came closer and inspected the writing. “Meerza, this might mean nothing, a well-made forgery could emulate the scratches.”

He made it sound as though Rin had been tricked, but in truth he was implying that Rin had forged a fake sword himself.

“I thought the same thing as you, Vizier,” said Rin and sheathed the talwar, “so I’ve asked three of the best sword makers, two jewelers, and one historian to verify its authenticity.” 

“Who was the historian to do the assessing? I was not called,” protested one scholar. 

‘Of course you were not called,’ thought Rin. ‘I’m not so stupid.’

Rin motioned to Nizamat to show the papers. “I did not wish to concern the council should the sword have proven to be an imitation. Luckily it has not. I’ve asked Najah Bey, the historian who knows most about the old kings, to come to Alamas and confirm it for me.” 

“The Divan will be glad to verify, as well, and talk with him,” said uncle Aarif.

“There is no need,” Rin said. “I put my trust in my eyes and the expertise of the men I’ve called. I would like to remind you here that it is your duty to estimate my worth, but it is mine and mine alone the prerogative to estimate the Marids’ worth. The Marid Sha’ir came to me, should you not rejoice for Alamas and Sarimah?”

“Of course we would rejoice if we knew for certain that Meerza’s words were not influenced by some ill-meaning impostor,” said another scholar. To Rin at times the scholars appeared like faceless, slithery creatures without any identity of their own. Each of them wished equally to cut Rin down. This was one of those times. 

“Indeed,” said the newest among uncle Aarif’s lackeys. “The company Meerza keeps is of the most dubious nature. It would be worrisome if Meerza paid more attention to it than to his trusted advisers.”

The Vizier Jaleel smoothed his red beard. “We have caught notice that one the so called Marids is nothing if not an impostor. He had hurt Meerza and his realm before.”

Rin swallowed down. “What do you mean?”

“Time ago,” said uncle Jaleel, “one claimed to be of the Marid tribe, and Payam Bey even accepted the man’s services. Payam Bey would tell you so if he lived in Alamas, but let me convey his loss and pain in his stead today, for Payam Bey has been deceived. It then turned out that the man in question had no drop of Marid blood in his veins. He was no Marid, my Prince.He led the ships of Payam Bey into ruin and death during the battle at Digra. You yourself signed his punishment, a month in prison, and he was never to assume any official position again. It is preposterous that the same fraud now walks with Meerza and continues to pour poison in the Prince’s ear.”

What?

The scholars began talking one over another. 

“He calls himself Rayn,” finished the Vizier.

Rin sat down.  
Was it the truth? He clenched his fists. Why had nobody told him? 

Every day he signed many documents, he couldn’t even remember this one. Yet Rayn he could remember, Rin remembered now. They had accused him of false claims and of leading the naval fleet into a battle with great losses and no victories for either side. The man in question had been sprawled on his knees most of the time, and Rin took notice mostly of his spectacles. The council had exacted a much stronger penalty at the time.  
No wonder Rayn had seemed familiar, and no wonder Rayn had been looking Rin with distrust since the day they had met. 

Uncle Jaleel smirked under his mustache. 

The Vizier was one step ahead of Rin, while in front of Rin a precipice was expanding. How to leap over it? Was this the end?

“I know of that,” Rin said, trying to keep his voice level. “The Marids accept him as one of their own, and so do I. It is not our place to judge their customs.” 

The Marids had tricked him.

He licked his lips. “If the water spirits were angry and broke our vessels as well as the vessels of our enemies, I remind you that the source of the marids’ anger is not with the man called Rayn, but elsewhere. Rayn had already paid for his mistakes, and the position he holds within the Marid tribe is not mine to take, just as it was not mine to give.”  
His jaw felt tense. He even had to put the blame on himself for that idiot and for Haru. When he would see Rayn next, Rin would crush that traitor’s skull. “Where one Marid lost, a tribe of them would not. First we need to appease the water spirits, and then we can hope to win at sea. That is my proposition.”

“How does Meerza propose to do it?” said the oldest scholar. “How does Meerza plan to placate the spirits’ anger?”

Rin smiled. Maybe he could still do it. He managed to turn their attention back to his designs, but now he’d have to convince them. Something strong enough to convince them…

“The Sha’ir already agreed to perform the water ritual,” Rin said. “He introduced me to the secrets of the siren’s flower.”

“Siren’s flower,” the councilors repeated among themselves. “Is it true? Is it possible?”

“Fables,” said another. 

“Riches,” said the third. 

“It is the truth,” Rin said as loudly as he managed. Now he’d have to embellish said ‘truth’ some more. “That is why I do not doubt the Marids. They gave me their secrets to keep, offered to repair our waterworks, and to cleanse the water of evil. The oasis will be full and clean again. That is our priority. I shall supervise their works myself, as per their demand.”

A councilor sat up from his seat, his golden necklaces rattling. “The waterworks are my duty, my Prince.”

“Sit, my good man,” said Rin. He had almost said ‘old man,’ and that would hardly have been appropriate. A slip of the tongue would end his chances. Quickly he had to regain his composure, quickly. “Not anymore. You wanted to test my worth, and here is the chance. For years you’ve tried to reinstall the waterworks with little success, so what difference does it make if you let me, an inexperienced prince, try for one moon cycle? I do not need more, just one moon of time.”  
He was overreaching, and one time would likely be too short, but if the scholars thought Rin would fail, they would be more incline to let him have a try. 

Above the general chatter and arguments of councilors, the Vizier’s voice rose. “Meerza is right.”

Did he truly say that?

The council fell silent as the Vizier began his speech. 

“The time of Meerza’s test has come,” Jaleel said. “Sarimah needs a true ruler. Let the water test his mettle, and let us be just in our judgment. It is our goal to make Sarimah a land of wealth and bounty, so let it not be said we, the wisest of Sarimah, forbid nature to take its course. Rinaz III is a grown man, so he should be tested as such.”

Rin changed position in his seat. What were Jaleel’s motives? Rin sensed nothing auspicious. If the Vizier was willing to give up the waterworks so easily, that only meant that there were bigger, more important things that Rin might lose. 

The Vizier turned toward the other scholars. “My vote is for our Prince to lead the repairs of the aqueduct himself. We will not interfere, but when the time comes, we will judge as it our calling to do. What is your vote?”

Almost unanimously, with the exception of five, they backed the Vizier. Did they know the plans or were they merely placing their trust in the notion that whatever the Vizier devised would benefit them?

“As the Prince will be busy with the aqueduct,” said one scholar, “we should lessen his burdens for the time being. May Meerza concentrate solely on his task, and may he come victorious from it.” He spread his arms and bowed. 

The other scholars joined in. “We should do so.” “The Vizier speaks wisely.”

“There is no need for such consideration, though I thank you for it,” Rin said. 

“It is not good to underestimate the task, my Prince,” said uncle Jaleel. “Allow us to help. Asking for aid with a larger assignment is also a mark of a good ruler.” 

All scholars voiced their agreement. 

“The issue of the attacks at the border has been addressed,” said a scholar in an orange robe, “so Meerza should entrust its unfolding to us.” 

No doubt they would find way to change the course of such unfolding, and send Seyjur or some other ally to some faraway, desolate place. Were the scholars trying to prevent Rin from attempting the repairs? Should he pull back and wait? That wouldn’t make sense. Water was in truth the priority. 

“I can attend enough to follow the progress,” Rin said. Were they trying to kick him out the council completely? 

The scholars seemed more engrossed in dividing Rin’s work than listening to their Prince. Rin could not go against the will of the entire Divan, he did not have such power. 

“I say the Vizier should take the task of diplomacy,” said uncle Aarif. Even his parched, lifeless features, like raisins, seemed to be animated by some inner light.  
“It would not be right to weight the Prince with all the myriad burdens of ruling, and expect him to do well in his most important trial. Meerza is right, the water is our priority.”

“Blessed be Meerza’s wisdom,” murmured a fat scholar. 

Rin’s grip strengthened around the sheath of his talwar. They were making fun of him. They were using Rin’s own words against him.  
How had the early Sultans done this? How had they ruled? And father…  
‘Haru, what am I to do?’ he thought. 

If Rin agreed, the trade would be completely in the Vizier’s hands. What now? Rin couldn’t deny the importance of the aqueduct, and if he insisted on keeping supervision over every single aspect of ruling, they might accuse him of being like his father.  
Was it worth to lose trade and diplomacy for water?  
Could he give them Seyjur and keep the diplomacy? Then he would be truly without army. He couldn’t trade Haru and the waterworks, that was certain. If he did, he’d be at the starting point again.  
Yet now he was awaiting an envoy from the Union of the Western Cities to arrive, and if uncle Jaleel was to negotiate with the Cities instead of the Prince, Rin might as well forget his throne. He’d be a puppet again.  
He was a puppet without water, he’d be a puppet without power over trade, and if he lost Seyjur’s army, he would become a puppet as well. 

There must have been a curse upon him. Rin snorted. No wonder uncle Jaleel had supported him so enthusiastically this time. 

It was an inevitable truth that Rin should lose something, and he searched frantically for what to say in return. “A good ruler should think of the entire Sarimah, not only of one thing in front of his nose. Allow me to continue my learning under your guidance.”

The Vizier kneeled. “There are other things Meerza should consider. I beg of you. Once my Prince ascends the throne, he should find a suitable bride. Sarimah could strike a good deal if the Sultan married a Princess from the Western Cities.”

No. Rin felt as though all strength were leaving his limbs. No. Not yet, and not ever. 

“It does not bode well for my Prince’s reputation to keep alone in his quarters, without a proper companion,” said uncle Jaleel. “My Prince should consider his options, now that he has a few, and accept our aid. Let your rule be better than your father’s.”

Better than father… The words hurt as a slap in Rin’s face. As dogs around a desert fox, the councilors had hounded him.  
Something about how Jaleel inclined the word ‘companion,’ made Rin’s skin crawl. Was it a hint that nothing could be hidden from the Vizier’s eyes, not even in the Prince’s quarters? Did he know about Haru? Was he threatening Haru’s life? Threatening Haru?  
For the first time, Rin remembered that the talwar in his hands was a weapon, a sword with a sharp blade. It could cut right into Jaleel’s neck, or his protruding belly.  
And then what?  
‘I must not be rash,’ Rin reminded himself in his thoughts. He heard the wheezes of a dying Rat, and saw his red, red blood. ‘Must not be rash.’

Another councilor chimed in, but Rin could barely focus. “And there is the matter of the Princess, as well. Marriage could strengthen our pact with the East. I don’t know why we have waited for so long.” 

“As her uncle, I’m worried, too,” said Jaleel. “She is well in her marrying age, but she is still alone. I fear for her wellbeing.”

Rin grit his teeth. Not only they were after Rin’s freedom, they aimed after Haru’s wellbeing, and also after Gohar’s, too. That he could not allow. 

“I’m her brother, so I will decide,” he yelled. Nobody would choose Gohar’s life for her. 

“Meerza,” said uncle Aarif, in a conciliatory, patronizing tone, “we think only of the good of your realm, and you.”

Rin swallowed down a lump of wrath in his throat. The more anger he showed, the more power he gave them. 

“So do I,” Rin said. 

Nizamat cleared his throat. “Forgive my manners for intruding upon the venerable scholars and my venerable Prince,” he said. 

Rin raised one arm to command silence in the hall. 

“If venerable Meerza agrees,” said Nizamat, “I may partake the council sessions in his stead, report the will of the council to him, and then do the same with Meerza’s will. I can report Meerza’s wishes back to the council, and if the need turns great, I may call upon our Prince to preside the council meetings. That way Meerza can concentrate on his trial and the other things of import that the venerable Vizier mentioned, without losing any of the venerable Divan’s advice.”

Blessed be the kid. Rin had to restrain himself so he would not laugh at the councilors’ faces. Nizamat had acted as Rin’s personal servant for so long and so meticulously, that Rin had almost forgotten that Nizamat, too, was a scholar. 

“How could that be?” said Aarif. 

“Scholar Nizamat has made a reasonable offer,” Rin said. “I trust him to be my voice in my absence, and to carry your voice to me.” Without waiting for the council to respond, he bent his knees. “I wish to bring prosperity to Sarimah, and I know I am inexperienced. Continue to guide me through Nizamat while I mature with my trial, for you are my Divan, and I have great need of you.”

He had gone down to his knees only once before, during the wars, and to his relief, this time it made the same impact on the old men. 

The voices in his favor counted a higher number than those against him. Rin had won. Uncle Jaleel had troubles keeping the mask of benign contentment on his face. 

Rin got up and continued the council with the proposition of a festivity in honor of the Marids’ return.  
One moon should be enough. It will have to suffice. 

After the session had ended, Rin bid Nizamat to come closer. 

“What you did,” Rin said, “was most helpful. Now we should find you a personal guard, for you will be under greater scrutiny and even greater danger, and I don’t wish to lose you.”

“Meerza,” said Nizamat, his expression molding into one of bliss, as if Rin had conferred upon him the title of Sultan. 

“You will never lose me,” said Nizamat. “I will be careful, and I will write down everything and report everything.”

Could it be that Nizamat was happy for the trust and not the power? Didn’t he understand that his life might be in danger? For no sensible reason, Rin felt that he had done Nizamat an injustice, that he was using the boy. Yet Nizamat was practically offering himself to the dangers of the palace, and Rin needed the help. Servitors existed to serve. 

“I need your assistance with the Marids. Follow me,” Rin said. 

 

“Little Rin,” Nagi called as soon as Rin entered the Marid’s chambers. 

The room reeked of mackerel, and the sun was too strong. 

Nagi wiped the yoghurt from his upper lip. “Can’t I get a different kind of food? With Haru it’s always mackerel. Mackerel with pomegranate, and mackerel with yoghurt, and mackerel with raisins; I think I’ll throw up.” 

“Order what you want,” said Rin. “Where is Haru?”

“Somewhere around,” said Nagi. 

Rayn lifted his gaze from a scroll. “He and Makeen are at the pool.” 

“You!” Rin said. “You’ve deceived me.” He marched toward the fake Marid. “You think you can lie to me? You think you can outsmart me, take me for a fool?” 

“What?” Nagi said. 

“I…I didn’t,” Rayn said. 

“You are not a Marid.” Rin pulled at the impostors’ collar. “Not a drop of Marid blood in you. You thought I wouldn’t find out?”

“Wait,” said Rayn.

Rin shook the collar. “What are your plans? You meant to destroy me?” 

“No, I…” Rayn said. 

Rin was pushing the cheat toward the wall. “You embarrassed me in front of the entire Divan. I almost lost everything because of you. First you made us lose the ships, and this time what do you want?”

“Stop, little Rin, stop.” Nagi jumped in front of Rin and forced them him and Rayn apart. 

Rayn was rubbing his throat and coughing. 

“What are you talking about, little Rin?” said Nagi. “Rayn is a Marid as much as me or Haru. Blood doesn’t matter, he’s one of us. He’s my kin.”

He might think so, but it did matter, it did matter to the council. 

“Did you wreck the ships on purpose?” Rin said. 

Nagi slammed one foot against the floor. “What is this? Stop being an idiot, little Rin,” he said. “Rayn is a good person. A good Marid. He told us what happened with the ships. How can you blame a storm on him?” 

“Why have you not told me, then?” Rin said. “You tricked me, all of you.”

Rayn shook his head. “I thought you knew, Meerza. I believed you recognized who I was, but I see I was wrong. If you speak of the battle that shames me, the water currents and the weather were more unpredictable than my calculations had foreseen, and it was too late to order retreat. I could only change defeat into equal loss for both sides. It was my mistake, but not my intention to…” He looked down and wrung his lips, as if he were recalling the scene of the battle, the sea that Rin had never seen. In his posture, Rin recognized feelings of guilt and regret. “Now if you demand me to leave, I will do so,” Rayn said.

Was that the truth?  
‘If I choose to believe now,’ thought Rin, ‘will I be punished for it?’

“No, little Rayn,” said Nagi. “No, why should you leave? And none of us knows all those formularies and that like you do.”

“Formulas,” Rayn corrected him.

Nagi wrapped his hands around Rayn’s waist. “You’re our scholar, so you can’t leave. Not now when we’re finally together again.” He sobbed. “Little Rin, tell him not to.” 

With tears in his eyes Little Nagi looked at Rin, and Rayn did too, without tears but with the same uncertain, imploring gaze. 

The fate of the Marids depended on royal blood again, this time on Rin.

Rin folded his arms. “How can I trust you?”

“And we,” said Rayn, his voice barely audible. “How can we trust you?”

He was right. The Marid tribe had more reason to distrust the Prince than the Prince had to distrust the Marid tribe men. 

“Meerza is trustworthy,” said someone. Ah, yes, Rin had almost forgotten Nizamat had followed.  
“I don’t know precisely what happened,” Nizamat said,” but I know Rinaz Meerza is trustworthy.”  
He coughed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then he smiled. 

“Well, than it is solved,” Little Nagi said. 

Rin made a nod. “So be it for now.”  
That was for the best. Twice in a day Nizamat had saved him, and Rin wondered why instead of thankfulness for the gestures, he felt guilt and inferiority. It made his hands prickle, and his body was ready to move and change that, to be the first again. To be the best. He had one moon phase to achieve that. 

“Since you’re the scholar, it falls upon you,” he said to Rayn. “You should have the knowledge my men lack, therefore you must find a way to restore the flow of water in Alamas and other cities with the same problem. You have…We have only one moon cycle at disposal. If you fail, I will order your skin flayed.”

“One moon cycle?” said Rayn. “I was told that my mind is as powerful as the mind of a jinni, but that’s not enough time to…Did you say flayed?” 

“Little Rin was only joking, weren’t you?” Nagi jabbed into Rin’s ribs with his elbow. “Weren’t you? I don’t remember your being a bully.” 

Rin snorted. “You said you don’t remember me at all.” 

“Yes, I don’t, in fact.” Nagi laughed and hid his blush with his hands. “I don’t.”

“Call the Sha’ir and his Marid guard,” said Rin, and Nizamat already ran. 

Once more Rin looked into Rayn’s eyes. Their color was unusual—a pale purple—but far from foul. “We shall lay down our plans,” said Rin. It sounded odd to his ears, ‘our plans’ instead of ‘mine.’ 

“And you,” Rin added, turning toward Nagi. 

Nagi pointed his index finger at his own face. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Don’t call me ‘little Rin,’ it’s annoying,” Rin said. 

Nagi laughed. “I’m sorry, little Rin, but people can’t just change who they are simply because you find them annoying. I bet you can’t either.”

Brat.  
If nothing else, whether Rin and the Marids would succeed or fail, in thirty days it would be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is longer. I've already split it in two parts, so I don't want to split it any further. But if you find it easier to read smaller chunks of text, let me know, and I'll make sure to split it the next time. :) 
> 
> As usual, I hope I cleaned up all the mistakes, and thank you for reading.


	7. Aims

Rin led the Marids inside the largest library his palace possessed. Gohar went with him, per her insistence and claim that she could be useful. After much debate, Rin had agreed because he had tasked Nizamat with following the council and the vizier, and because Gohar should be safe from harm with him and the Marids. 

“Brother and I prepared most of the documents we should need,” said Gohar. She didn’t appear distraught by the company, nor the Marids by her presence, but nevertheless she stood slightly behind Rin. “There are countless scriptures here, and I thought you would like to see them,” she said. 

Haru glimpsed around once and then fixed his eyes on the windows. Makeen stood bashfully.

Rayn seemed most affected by the sight. With blitheness oozing from his gaze and from every pore of his body, he walked from one shelf to the other. Then he started saying, “Beautiful, beautiful,” for every other book he saw or touched. 

Little Nagi began counting the books and joined Rayn between the shelves. 

The library kept books of all kinds and from all winds. Papyrus and leather scrolls in metal casings, codices bound in Northerners’ fashion, clay tablets, a few exotic eastern books on tiny bamboo panels, and one in silk. Shelves spread from the ground to the ceiling of the library.

The book keeper fidgeted, probably fearing that the guests might destroy the written riches, but he said nothing to Rin. In his arms he carried the scrolls and papers that Rin and Gohar had selected. 

Rayn took a codex, opened it, and flattened the rueful margins of one page. “Beautiful.”His fingers brushed gently over the text and the decorations in gold and silver. “So beautiful.”

He opened the metal casings with more care than even Rin. “Look at this, how the letters flow,” he whispered. “Such beauty. This tribe is so meticulous that a scroll is discarded in its entirety if one single mistake or blotch is made.”

“Yes,” said Rin, “and this one is not immaculate. Funny enough, the original burned together with the rest of the fabled Axan library, while this bad copy still exists.”

“It’s invaluable,” said Rayn.

“Yes,” said Gohar. 

That was how a true scholar looked like, one with true passion and love for written tales and teachings, unlike Rin, who occupied that place only because coincidence or fate had decreed so. Not his talent, but his father’s blood and aim had raised him to the position of Prince above any other man. Without those, what would he be now?  
Mayhap he would drawl his words like the commoners of Alamas, and burdened by smaller riches, smaller ambitions, and smaller obligations, perhaps he would be a simpler and happier man. Even in misery it would be easier, for he’d carry only his fate and not the fate of an entire realm on his shoulders. Yet then would probably never have met Haru. 

“Little Go,” said Nagi. “How many of these have you read? Are there any with pictures?”

“It’s Gohar, not Go, and especially not Little Go,” Gohar said. 

Nagi tilted his head and smirked. “Little Go sounds nicer.”

Soon Gohar removed the veil from her face, as she discovered that without the cover it was easier to stick out her tongue back at Nagi, or make a displeased expression. 

She behaved as if she were seven years younger than her age, at least, and Rin couldn’t remember well the last time she had acted thus, almost like a stranger. It dawned on him that if it weren’t for Rin and the worries she kept for him, Gohar might have been a simpler, happier woman, as well. 

“Go, little Go,” said Nagi. “Little Go.”

“Gohar,” said Gohar. “Gohar, Gohar, Gohar.”

Makeen patted both on the shoulder. “Now, now.” 

“Will you keep quiet?” said Rin. “Let’s take what we need and proceed according to our plans.”

“Meerza is merciful,” said the book keeper and sighed in relief. 

After Nagi and Makeen managed to drag Rayn back to the Marids’ chambers, Gohar unrolled one scroll over the table. “Here is a map with all the wells and fountains. You can see all the ones marked as disused due to various reasons.”

She was the careful, serious Princess again, and Rin reprimanded himself for not giving her more time to be merry and silly in the library. As the Prince, Rin was bound by his duties, but she didn’t have to be tied down in equal measure. 

“Various reasons?” said Rayn, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“I thought the low water level in the oasis was the reason,” Makeen added.

Haru sat down and leaned his chin on his arms. 

“It’s not so simple, I’m afraid.” Rin pulled a different map of Alamas and pointed at it. “Here the aqueduct is made with the standard technique. The qanat reaches the palace and some other points. Here, here, and here. ”

He passed a few construction designs to Rayn.

“Then this part of the city can brag of qanat tunnels with Marid stone basins, and water is flowing normally through them,” Rin said. “There is one problem, however. Though the water carries no visible dirt or odor, it must be polluted in some way, because those who drink it turn sick. It seems to affect especially elders and children. At first we were guessing that someone was poisoning the water, but I doubt that is the case in truth. I placed guards inside and in front of the tunnels, so it is watched over day and night, but at random times the water becomes noxious.” 

“And the shafts for maintenance, are those guarded, too?” said Rayn. 

“Yes, of course,” said Rin. “The workers restored part of the bottom layer much earlier, but only a few years ago the problem came to be, so I doubt it is connected. And here, here some connecting channels in Alamas are in the open, constructed with stone blocks and shielded by a roof. Most are empty now.”

“That should be simple water pressure or lack of water.” Rayn nodded. “What about the other reasons?”

“Meanwhile in this district,” Gohar said, “the water is muddy. The aqueduct has been cleaned and part of it replaced, but the water soon became dirtied again.” 

Rin took a seat. “Finally, there are parts of Alamas that are not shown at all, and I have already sent for details.”  
He had sent a message to Ama, informing her of the recent turn of events in an enciphered note, and now he was waiting for her reply. 

Rayn rummaged through the papers. “The mother well is still intact, if I understand the maps correctly. But not as full with water as before, perhaps? The main irrigations system for the gardens and the fields should be almost intact, too.”

“Yes,” said Gohar. “How did you know? Do you know what happened?”

“I have an inkling.” Rayn took a stroll around the chamber. “The reasons for water shortage are indeed more than one,” he said. He adjusted the spectacles on his nose. “I’m certain it must be water pressure and the materials used in some places, and of course, something is blocking the water at the source. Do you have a more detailed diagram of the oasis? Old ones, preferably.”

Gohar searched for them. 

Rayn took a sheet of parchment, ink and quill, and began drawing. 

“What is this supposed to be, little Rayn?” said Nagi, lowering his head over the table. “A butterfly? A duck? A monster?”

“Hm,” said Rayn. He scratched his brow. “I’m afraid I don’t draw well.”

Haru stood. “Then I will do it. Tell me what you wish to draw.”

Rayn gave him the quill. “Copy this piece,” Rayn said, “but add a blockage here, like a rock formation or something like that. And could you copy these channels as well? They are divided across…” he said, trying to combine several sheets on the table, “three different documents, and I think they are missing some parts. A channel or a block. Maybe the aquifuge has been damaged during some of the works, and it now blocks some of the qanat’s channels. Perhaps the residue has been dragged deep under the city, and is blocking the passage or lowering the pressure, so the water can’t climb up the vertical shafts. With the maps you have, it should be easy enough to find the areas where… wait, maybe those were only deposits of aquitard, or even aquifier. Or maybe some of the basins you mentioned, the ones that have been replaced are made of permeable, porous stone. There are two main areas we…I mean two types of procedures. One is pertinent to oasis and its levels, and the other is pertinent to waterworks below Alamas. Just as I have predicted.”

“Aqui…”said Nagi. “Little Rayn, make some sense.” 

“I’m making perfect sense!”Rayn waved his hands wildly, shook the papers, and pushed them under everyone’s nose. “Look here, see? See?”

Rin didn’t know exactly what he should be seeing.

Rayn smiled triumphantly. “It will be tricky to check below the aquifier, but it can be done. There are techniques the Marids used for just such occasions, if you still keep the tools and constructs the Marids used…no, you probably don’t. I can redraw the designs, and your workmen can rebuild them, but that will take time. One part of the oasis…One moon cycle will not be enough, my Prince.”

Rin pursed his lips. He had expected as much. “But you said it can be done?”

Rayn nodded frantically. “Yes, Meerza, yes. I am certain.”

“Then we will have to buy some time,” Rin said. Whatever he and the Marids did, the council would meet them with resistance. He needed to think, and anticipate the councilors’ moves. Nizamat better bring something useful from the Divan’s seating.

“Brother,” Gohar said and squeezed Rin’s hand. “If we can do this…” Her lips were spreading in a smile. 

It could be done. It was possible. Indeed. Rin felt as though fetters had fallen from his wrists and ankles. Yet too often hope rose high only to be crushed again.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rin said. 

Makeen glanced over Haru’s shoulders, at the drawing. “How do we begin?”

“Meerza,” someone called from outside the room. “My Prince, this servant would…”

Gohar opened the door.

“Nizamat, come in,” Rin said. 

“Thank you, my Princess,” Nizamat said. He came in with a bunch of scrolls in his lap, and he could barely see where he was stepping. Makeen helped him carry the scrolls to the table. 

“What is this?” said Nagi. 

“The documents about waterworks that the Venerable Agifa thought were his for safekeeping,” said Nizamat. “I informed him otherwise. He asked me to forward his indignation over…I don’t remember, something about his lustrous role in the city of Alamas.”

Rin let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry. His indignations has been forwarded, you may tell him so.”

Nizamat rubbed his temples. “To tell him…I have no time for that, my Prince, forgive me.”

“Little Rin, were they trying to keep those from you? The scrolls?” said Nagi. “Why? Wouldn’t they be richer with more water?”

“Think of this,” said Rin. “You have one golden coin, while everyone else in your tribe has only a quarter of it. You are undoubtedly the richest, and your word carries more weight, the weight of gold that backs it. Then by chance your group finds a large purse full of golden coins, and you proceed to divide it among yourselves. You have seven coins now, while everyone else has five and a quarter. The difference in wealth among the tribe men is not so great that the other members should feel pressured to listen to you as much as before. In fact, whatever your friends valued as one one-hundredth of a golden coin before, be it goods or service, now they can spare more coin for it, and demand more coin for it, as well. This devalues the worth of your coins. Although you’re richer than before, you’re also poorer. The only way to keep the value of your coins high is to place yourself in a position where you yourself can decide the rarity and value of gold.”

“Substitute the gold with water,” said Rayn, his face molding into an expression of disgust. “For such petty reasoning we suffer and thirst.”

“There could be water for everyone,” said Rin. Such had been his father’s wish, and Rin felt that he was treading a tiny bridge above the precipice. Below him, on one side an evil was gaping at him; the avarice and the wish to possess the whole world as the Divan did. On the other side lurked the mad, idealistic notion to help the entire world, as his father had wanted. To make the entire desert a garden, those had been father’s words. Instead he had made a garden of blood and bones.  
Rin tried to keep his focus on his aim alone, but as with archery practice, sometimes he lost sight of the target, and his arrows served him false. 

“Hm,” said Haru.

Rin glanced at him. Judging by the glimmer Haru’s eyes, he had been following the conversation with interest, though his pose did not change at all. Something in the way Haru carried himself, the movement of his eyes and limbs, or the lack of it, spoke to Rin and bid him to pay more attention. Rin couldn’t tell what. It was nothing in particular, yet it was everything.  
The tiny folds of skin on Haru’s lean stomach when he sat, the way his sirwal traced the lines of his posterior, the way his hand supported his chin, and the way his adult voice resounded. It sounded delightful, sweet each word and sound. 

A doubt came to him. What if Haru was just another distraction? Wherever Rin directed his thoughts, Haru still remained at the center, and sometimes Rin could not see anything else. Wasn’t this a weakness? A large, exploitable one at that? 

“Well,” said Makeen, adjusting his striped mantle, “we should take it one small step by another and see what we can do from there.” His voice was low and soothing, yet despite that, when he spoke, all listened. 

“My Prince,” said Nizamat. “If Meerza has no need for this servant, I’ll ask to be excused.” 

He had probably more obligations with the Divan. 

“You may go,” said Rin, at which Nizamat bowed and rushed outside. 

Gohar fixed her veil upon her face again. “The celebration,” she said. “Let us not forget the celebration.”

She explained the reason and the course of the festivities, and Rin had to admit she had done better than he would have. 

“I need you to partake in the festival activities,” Rin said. “Except for Rayn. By no means the nobles must see him, or the contests among poets might become a political satire, aimed at me and you.” 

“That’s so mean,” said Little Nagi. “Why only Rayn? Can’t we smuggle him to the celebrations somehow?”

Rin shook his head. “No. By no means.”

Nagi patted Rayn’s shoulder. “Take heart, I’m sure it will be boring anyway. And it’s just one day, and we’ll be all thinking of you.”

Rayn’s smile was sour. “I don’t care about the festivities, I only wanted to be with all of…”

“But it makes sense,” Little Nagi cut him off, lifting his index finger like a scholar, “Think about it, you are our secret weapon, so we’re hiding you. You’ll be working on our plans when everyone else is unsuspectingly writing poems and drinking. And then, boom, surprise, Rayn’s design bring water to Alamas, and everyone will praise you.” He winked. “See, you’re the true hero here. Our hero.” 

“I’m fine, you don’t need to console me,” said Rayn.

Makeen joined in. “Nagi is right. Your role is extremely important.”

Even Haru’s face rose from above his sketches. “You bring honor to our tribe.”

With those words Rayn’s countenance changed from saddened to one ready to undertake any task.  
How could a few kind, empty words change a man’s predisposition like that?  
‘Is this what I lack?’ Rin thought. 

“Will the others join, then?” said Gohar.

“I will not,” said Haru. “I have no interest in it. It has nothing to do with me.” His quill continued lining the draft of the oasis and its underground shafts. 

“Haru,” said Makeen. 

“No,” said Rin, “you have to. You must.” It was crucial that the Sha’ir made an appearance. “I will not ask you to perform the water ritual yet or anything like it. But you must be there.”

Gohar touched Rin’s arm, trying to calm him down. “Brother, it can wait. It’s most important that someone of the Marids appears, and we can ask the Sha’ir to help us later.”

“Can’t you see the benefit of…”Rin began. Haru wouldn’t listen anyway, would he? “Fine,” Rin said. “Do as you wish.”

They laid the scheme of where and what the Marids would do during the day of the festivities, and when they were done and Gohar left, Rin beckoned to Makeen. 

“Walk with me, I need a word with you,” Rin said.

Nagi’s tongue was loose, but only about the things he cared, and he posed more questions than he answered in return. Rayn’s mind and speeches followed only one track, and Haru was Haru.  
With his temperate demeanor, Makeen should be the most forthcoming. Above all, Rin hoped that perhaps Makeen was holding the key to convince Haru into a public appearance. 

They strolled through the Prince’s quarters with no specific goal in mind. 

“I don’t know how to talk with Haru,” Rin said. He hadn’t intended to speak of this, but Makeen’s calm was contagious, perhaps. Makeen seemed trusting without being foolish, and he could listen without remaining mute. Something else about him took Rin by surprise; Makeen acted as though he liked Rin, as though they were friends, and the wars of past were not of great import. That kind of people posed the greatest danger, precisely because they seemed to pose none. Rin reminded himself to be careful. 

“It’s Haruk Ah Bey’s nature,” said Makeen. “He has been taught to become one with the water and air. In order to absorb and accept the wind and the waves, he first had to empty himself of emotions, only then he can attune to the spirits of water. Through water and wind and sand he has learned to express himself. Yet he needs his human side, too, but I fear he has been cut from it. He has been neglecting it, so he may lack some common sense and experience in customs we all take for granted.”

Rin hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. Just a day ago, he had seen as Makeen had reprimand Haru for not paying attention to proper meals. It was funny that a man who could command the water couldn’t take care of his nourishment without the help of others. Quite funny. Then Rin remembered how Nizamat kept running left and right under his orders.  
‘It’s not the same,’ thought Rin. ‘I know what I’m doing, I have a goal.’

“He lacks that human part of him,” said Makeen, halting his steps, “but perhaps you…” His voice died out. 

“Perhaps I?” said Rin, hoping to break the silence. 

“No, nothing.” Makeen smiled. “I’m sure it will go as the spirits have ordained.”

Rin harbored many doubts about the spirits and their ways of ordaining things, but Haru he couldn’t doubt. 

“Why did you not run during the wars? East, west, anywhere?” The question had been nagging at Rin for years. 

Makeen let out a sigh. “Our old Sha’ir said we had a duty to this land. It is our duty to keep it prosperous and keep the order of the land, or give to it our bones. Thus is the will of the marid spirits.”

Rin said, “Are the water spirits so cruel?”

“No, like us, they are so connected to this land, and they love it as much as we do.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was Makeen avoiding a straight answer?  
Rin needed to know more. While the questions were tormenting him, Rin suspected the answers would torment him even more. The things he yearned to know were also the same things he feared. 

“Thank you for giving your time, Makeen Bey,” Rin said. “Let us return.”

He could see now how the Marids worked. Haru was the heart and soul, the lifeblood of the tribe. Makeen was the mouth or perhaps the head of the body, putting the heart’s beat into concrete sentences. With his nimble, detail-oriented mind, Rayn was the arms that achieved what heart and head could not alone. He couldn't figure out what Little Nagi was, legs perhaps? It made no sense.

Rin heard quick steps behind him, and so he turned.

Haru grabbed his wrist. His breathing was heavy, as if he had been running all this time.

The touch felt as though a piece of ice glided up the inside of Rin’s wrists. As an onrush of power it displaced his senses, aroused his inner urges. Like a piece of cold, solid water, a marvel from the mountains in the colder northeast, now stored in the ice pit close to the palace. It coiled round Rin’s arm and reached his spine. 

"Me, too," said Haru. 

"What?" Rin said. 

"Let me join the celebrations, as you wished,” said Haru. “I can wield a bow well enough. Let me participate in the archery tournament with you."

Rin grinned. He felt no need to ask why Haru had changed his mind. It mattered only that he had.  
His veins were pulsing with excitement. Through them surged the power to hold the entire world in his palm, and either crush it or propel it into the sky, however he wished. 

Then Haru released Rin’s wrist and returned to the Marids’ chambers with Makeen. As if someone had taken the life out of Rin’s body, cut his blood vessels open, thus Rin felt the loss. 

Staring at Haru’s back, he asked himself why. What was this distance? Had they not been closer before? Back in the pool, the two of them had exchanged kisses and promises. They had done the same already years ago, as kids. Did Haru remember any of it? 

Why did he feel as if the distance between them was growing? 

Rin returned to his chamber.  
There, Nizamat was sleeping on the sofa, with papers scattered around him, and the quill on the ground. 

“Hey.” Rin gave a kick to the sofa. 

Nizamat remained immersed in his dreams, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. 

With a sigh, Rin collected the papers, then pulled one of his bedcovers, and threw it over Nizamat. The kid must have worked hard today. 

Rin began reading.  
Nizamat had written about the meeting in great detail, deliberating on the meaning and nuances of each scholar’s words. Rin had to admit that Nizamat seemed to know more councilors by name than the Prince himself. Not only that, Nizamat had taken note also of some smaller remarks the scholars had made, remarks a less learned man would have taken for meaningless. 

“You’ve done well, haven’t you? Better than I,” said Rin. In response, Nizamat mumbled in his sleep.

 

The day of celebration fast approached. Rin had already seen that his spies and hirelings had begun spreading the word about the Marids. The Marids had returned. They had paid their respects to Rinaz III, Crown Prince of Sarimah. After having pondered whether the news will deter the rulers of the Western Cities or spur them to attack, he had decided that at least it should startle them and give Rin time as they would verify the rumors. People, be it rulers or subjects, still feared the powers of a Sha’ir.  
A gathering of scholars and other nawabs would be an appropriate celebration. A contest of poetry and martial skills, food and drinks, shouldn’t that be enough to please people’s spirits and palates?  
Rin also opened some city fountains for a day to celebrate, and that way the people of Alamas and the whole Sarimah would be more eager to praise him. 

He donned a turban decorated with a large chunk of golden amber and a peacock feather.  
Dressed in silk, wrapped in a mantle of panther’s skin, and his skin bathed in perfumes and oils, Rin sat on his peacock throne. The Hall of Gold and the Sapphire Chamber were full to the brink. Rin spoke all the words he had to, in the way he had to, and thus he opened the celebrations.

Makeen had joined the poetry contest on Haru’s behalf. The Marid tribe men wore clothes especially tailored and adorned for the occasion, as well; silk, brocade, and jewels, all in the spirit of the Marid’s traditional designs.  
“Haruk Ah Bey is indeed our Sha’ir, but his poems speak only to the spirits,” Makeen said. “It would not befit a human ear to listen to his chants outside the water rituals. He is of water, and I am of sand, so if it pleases the Sons of Kings and the venerable noblemen, generals and scholars, let me partake as the delegate of the Marid people.” 

Makeen recited poems honoring the Marid tribe and declined to compose verses that would belittle other tribes. “The spirits would not be merciful if I broke their tenets,” he said. 

The old scholars stroked their beards and nodded to each other, pleased to see a pious man. Makeen showed even more usefulness than Rin had anticipated.

Rin smiled to himself. Now it was time to please also the impious scholars. After the poetry contest and debates, dancers stepped and twisted to the music of darbukas and ouds. The nobles ate grapes, meat, and sweets. The scent of coffee and spices pervaded the halls. Haru drank only water, Rin noticed, while Nagi was stuffing his face with lokum and other sweets and candies. Gohar, clad in yellow and gold, was whispering something into the ears of her palace maids. 

Rin allowed wine to be poured on such a day of festivity, but only in moderation. In spite of that, when it was time for archery, many a man was reeling on his feet. It was better that way; people revealed their preferences and dislikes more honestly in the company of wine.

The procession winded outside, to the richly prepared and decorated tents around the training grounds.  
Under the tents, Little Nagi joined the dancers. Rin observed who laughed with whom, and who whispered to whom. He did not drink himself, out of fear that somebody might drug his cup and shame him or start a mutiny. The guards were at their places, and at least some of them were either loyal or bought by Rin. 

His breath hitched when he noticed one figure in the noblewomen’s tent. She sat covered in a black robe, her face adorned by a cloth with round golden tokens.

Rin toed toward the tent. “Venerable Mother,” he said.

Why was she here? Had Gohar put her up to this? Gohar motioned something with her hands, but Rin didn’t catch the meaning.  
Mother stared at him with glassy brown eyes, and while Rin couldn’t see the rest of her face behind the veil, he could imagine her expression well; harsh, desolate, and inhospitable like the rolling dunes.  
She would remain silent like this, accusing Rin with her eyes forever. In such a public place, long silences would equal rudeness toward both. 

“Your son is most grateful for your presence, Venerable Mother. I am glad to see you well. I hope you will enjoy today’s sight.” He bowed and returned to his tent, where Nizamat helped him remove the rings and strip the robe to the waist. 

Rin stretched his limbs. 

Seyjur walked up to him, saying, “Be sure to aim well this time, Rinaz. You have the strength, and you only need the focus. Focus, focus. If you don’t win I’ll say even the palace ladies shoot better than you.”

Rin allowed himself an annoyed grin. “As if any palace lady practices archery.”

Seyjur rubbed his nose and shrugged his shoulders. “Aim well, Meerza.”

First it was zone shooting. Rin and ten others partook, and among those Haru was allowed, as well.  
Zone shooting at distance would be followed by shooting at a moving target. It was named the beast on chariot, since a lion skin was stuffed with hay and placed at the front of the cart. Another smaller skin was stuffed and fixed to the back, representing the archer’s hound that chased the lion. The contester who would fill the running lion’s skin with most arrows would win, and that man would be Seyjur, of that Rin had no doubts. Thus Rin had picked for himself a contest where his victory was assured. His arms, his entire body, and his mind were out of practice. His muscles ached from the exercise in the past few days. His body had forgotten the kind of strength that was needed for the correct form and for a steady aim.  
Therefore Rin had made special care that the best opponent got a mismatched set of arrows, some with heavy feathers and lighter arrowhead, and some just the opposite, but now it was clear that such caution had not been necessary, since the noble was so drunk he could not tell his bow from a wooden stick.  
There was no wind, only the accursed sun and the noise of the people in the background, which meant a more straightforward competition. The first round should be easy.  
The serfs drew large circles on the ground. Men fired ten long arrows in rapid succession, aiming high in the air, toward the sky. Serfs counted how many arrows had landed in the circles.  
All of Rin’s arrows entered. Good. Haru continued to the next round as well. 

Rin tilted his head. What was that?  
One of the drunken noble’s arrows had landed close to Haru. Rin’s muscles tensed. He made a step to run but controlled himself in time. He should act by the protocol and rules, and so he waited as the guards ushered the groggy man from the area. Haru wasn’t hurt, and in fact he didn’t even seem startled. In his stead Rin was taken aback. Had it been an honest mistake or had it been a plan? Should Rin have stopped the man from competing? Had they wanted to kill the Marid Sha’ir?  
No, that would be too obvious, here in the open sun, wouldn’t it? Or was rather that the intention? Was it a warning?  
Rin forced himself to breath in and out. ‘Wait and watch their moves,’ he ordered himself. ‘If you stop the festivities, who will profit? Not you, not the Marids, but someone else.’ He searched for his uncles in the crowd, on the honorary seats in the shade. 

“You will not take a thing from me, not a thing of mine,” he whispered. He feared to glance in mother’s direction. 

Besides Rin four contestants remained, and the serfs drew another circle, smaller this time. At no rate Rin could afford to lose. He locked his gaze with Haru and nodded to him. Then he narrowed his mind to the field of light blue sky above him and the circle in front of him. He shot three arrows, glancing at Haru after each one. Nobody’s arrow misfired into the Sha’ir’s direction.

Haru’s form was different from the posture the soldiers of Sarimah had been taught, his feet were not so wide apart, and he faced the target frontally, unlike the palace-trained, who did it sideways to draw more strength. Nevertheless his arrows flew equally high and hit the circle with equal precision as the best of Sarimah’s archers. How? And was he not too weak to draw the bow like that? His build was closer to a scholarly lanky than to Rin’s or Seyjur’s muscled tone. 

Rin took another arrow. While he was concerned for Haru, his competitors were already gaining advantage. The sore tension in the muscles of Rin’s arms and shoulders was spreading all the way to his abdomen. He fired the remaining arrows. 

Seven arrows counted for Rin, and seven for Haru. Only the two of them remained. 

“So it’s me against you,” he called. “Do your best, Sha’ir of the Marids.”

The crowd blustered. Rin thought of his father. He had to win. His hands were sweaty. He could hear the buzzing of the insects, the murmurs of the nawabzada, every chirp of birds, and the slither of his own nervous feet against the sand. Sweat was sliding from his brows into his eyes. He tasted the sweat on his upper lip as he licked it. Haru had tasted of sweat, dry and salty sweat, too, when Rin had bitten into his shoulder the first time they had met again, when Haru had been still a prisoner. ‘Don’t think of that.’ He had to win.  
At the signal Rin cast his bow. Arrow, circle, sky, circle, arrow; he thought of nothing else. His eyes and arms and feet aligned to one single goal. ‘I will not be beaten. I am your better.’

This time merely two of Haru’s arrows alighted within the circle, in contrast to Rin’s six. Merely two. Rin had won.

The noblemen cheered and clapped for Rin, and Rin tried his best not to break his bow in two and throw it away. He glimpsed at Haru, but Haru walked back to the other Marids with no care in the world, as if in his pity he hadn’t thrown to Rin a shameful victory.

Rin put his robe over his shoulders, sat back in his royal seat, and ordered the games to continue. Although he was sitting under the shade of the tent, the vision in front of him was becoming blurry, and he drank to calm the twitching in his guts. He smelled the water for poison, but it must have been his anger that was wrenching his insides.  
He bid Nizamat to call for Haru. 

He came slowly, as if he had not been summoned by the sultan. Future sultan. 

“Sit,” Rin said and tapped on the cushion left of him. 

Haru sat down and crossed his legs. 

Down in the training grounds, Seyjur had stuck his fourth arrow inside the fake lion. All the eyes were on him, all voices cheered. He sure was loved. 

Rin looked back at Haru. “Do you take me for a fool? Did you try to shame me?” It was too loud to be called a whisper. Rin breathed out. It would not do if he were to show his anger here. “It was obvious you lost on purpose.”  
It was obvious he considered Rin as his inferior. Forever the inferior, ever the brute. 

“What difference does it make?” said Haru, watching the competition. His voice was soft but detached. “You wanted a victory, and a victory you have. Are you not glad?”

“You,” Rin said and grabbed Haru by the shawl. Haru fell onto him, his cheek bumped against Rin’s chest. His hands clutched at Rin’s open robe and pulled it down. Haru remained like this, half-sitting and half-kneeling, as if Rin had pulled him into an embrace. 

Rin reached down with his free hand and forced Haru’s chin up. “Did you lose on purpose?”

The pressure of Rin’s fingers around Haru’s mouth had pursed and opened Haru’s lips. Rin moved his thumb over the corner of Haru’s mouth. 

He felt Haru’s fingers fetter and dig into his arm in response. 

“Rin,” Haru whispered. It sent jolts and tingles down Rin’s necks. Haru’s breath was warm on the tips of Rin’s fingers. 

Slowly, deliberately, Rin pressed toward the middle of Haru’s lower lip, probing the resistance of its tender flesh. It was pleasant to the touch. Supple, soft, yet firm. Then he rolled the lip downward to reveal the vivid, glossy red of its inside and the white set of Haru’s teeth. 

“You needed that win more than I did,” said Haru.

Heavy lidded he pushed up. He bit his lower lip and hid his mouth with his hand. For an instant his eyes closed in the same rapt, seductive manner they had closed when he had played at the pool with water. Then he dropped his hand and placed it on Rin’s thigh. Haru sat properly now, but his face was closer to Rin, so close. Rin could see the specks and lines inside Haru’s irises, below the lashes, like a picture of waves around the center of the universe. Their foreheads touched. Rin closed his eyes. Haru’s breath was already kissing Rin’s lips. 

“My Prince, forgive me, I think a gust of wind from the fan has undone your robe.” The voice came as if from another reality. 

Nizamat stood in front of them with a large feather fan, blocking the view on the training ground, but also blocking the view on the Prince’s seat to everyone. 

Rin got up to his feet. He had forgotten his status and the place he was in. Such luck Nizamat had retained more wits than his Prince. When Haru was the center, Rin forgot about everything else, and by that he put himself and Haru in a perilous situation. The crowd was clapping for Seyjur, and Rin joined. 

“You should return to your tent, to the other Marids,” he said to Haru.  
Haru stood and did as he was told.  
Once again Rin watched Haru’s retreating back, and then he took a large sip of water. His body burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my superficial and incorrect knowledge of financial truths and ancient aqueduct constructions, and the same goes for Arab archery. 
> 
> I'm trying to keep Rin as Rin (close to what he is in the anime), but sometimes he insists on being Rinaz THE PRINCE, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Thank you also for the feedback about chapter length! :D I'm more used to writing somewhat longer chapters, to be honest, so here's the seventh chapter with 6k+ words. 
> 
> I'll add the glossary for this chapter a bit later.  
> I'm sorry about any mistakes than might have remained in the text.
> 
> It'll probably take more time than usual for the next chapter, because this time I don't have anything prewritten. (It kills me to write in chronological order.)
> 
> And last but not the least, thank you a lot for reading the fanfic.


	8. By Common Low Desires

“Such beauty,” said Rayn. “The beauty of its construction matches the glory of old temples as they are described in books.”

“Well,” said Nagi. “It is…something different.”

The qanat’s tunnel was narrow and dark, the stone ceiling low. They squatted on the wooden scaffolding above the water, all five of them. The workers had already placed the scaffolding during the previous repairs, which had never been completed, and thus the boards remained.  
Makeen and Nagi squatted one at the front and the other at the back, each holding an oil lamp. The oil lamps were casting a yellow-orange light into the shadows. The air was far from hot, in fact it was refreshing, yet the proximity of their bodies made it stifling. Rin felt as though heat radiated from Haru’s back in front of him.  
Compared to the larger and more elaborate canals they had visited earlier, this canal was something different indeed. They had been crawling on the wooden boards in the shadows for so long that Rin began to worry they would remain down here forever, be it for one reason or another. Mayhap because of an ambush, mayhap because of Makeen.

Rin had found too late that Makeen harbored a fear of narrow and dark places, and since Makeen was the first in row, they were progressing only at a slow pace.  
Why hadn’t Makeen said something earlier? There had been plenty of time in the larger, less constricting canals, or by the canals and fountains in plain sunlight. 

Rayn ladled out a sample of water into a small clay pot, and stored it inside his bag. He had done so at other spots of the aqueduct, both underground and where the water resurfaced into sunlight. 

“Careful, little Rayn,” Nagi said as Rayn bent too low over the boards.

Rin sighed. At least it appeared that this time Rayn wouldn’t borrow Rin’s back to write down the annotations.  
He didn’t understand the Marids, he truly didn’t. Perhaps he was too thirsty and hungry.  
During the course of the day, Rayn had spent a lot of time admiring the waterworks and that single water-powered mechanism of Marid origin. He had pointed out which influences were eastern and which northern, and how the Marids had united them. While that had been truly interesting, it hadn’t brought them closer to finishing the repairs. None of the other Marids furthered their cause either. Makeen feared the angered spirits and ghosts inside the tunnels, or something like that, Haru was too silent, and Nagi too loud. At times Rayn had glanced at Nagi with a tart expression on his face, and Nagi would laugh and blurt out sentences too stupid to fathom. They had been wasting too much time. 

Rin asked himself again how he had ended here in the dark, without his own guards and with a bunch of Marids, who were each one less helpful than the other. 

Rayn had drafted a set of questions regarding the waterworks. He had then searched for the answers in documents. Afterwards, today, they had set out into the city for those blanks Rayn could not fill in the palace. They still had to check some shafts inside the city, all the ones outside, and the oasis itself. 

Meanwhile Rin had been recruiting artisans who were knowledgeable in how the aqueduct works, but his Divan had made even this task difficult. Some masons, smiths, and scholars had come over easily, others Rin had had to threaten with harsh punishments, or bribe them. Assembling an army should hardly prove more troublesome than this. Apparently the Divan had them in its clutches, holding them with more power than the Prince could exert.  
Rin remembered the councilor previously entrusted with the repairs of the aqueduct, the man’s ‘lustrous position in the city of Alamas.’  
It was no use thinking of this now. No use. With one hand Rin squeezed his open jubba, which he had to tuck up to walk while crouching. He promised himself that as soon as he would get the chance, he would return the favor and give the councilor a ‘lustrous position’ indeed. For now he could count only the Marids. 

‘Why can’t one single thing go the way I want it to?’ he thought.

They would be too easy to spot with an entourage, so Rin had gone into the city with the Marids without escort. Their number should be great enough to fend off a possible assassin, thus Rin had reasoned. Now, inside the belly of Alamas he felt trapped. Although there were city guards outside every entrance in the qanat, and in front of every fountain, counting on their loyalty based on Seyjur’s questionable devotion had been imprudent, perhaps.

‘It was fine when I went alone with Haru to the bazaar,’ Rin told himself, ‘It should be fine this time, too.’

In front of him, Haru was crouching and stretching his arm down into the water. Rin’s knees were pressing in Haru’s thigh, and he had used the excuse of narrow space to lean on Haru and drape one hand over his back. 

It was more closeness than prudence allowed, especially with the slivers of dreams that his mind had brought back from sleep into the waking state. He had to be careful, yet it seemed so difficult to be watchful all the time. 

The dreams, as much as Rin remembered of them, had begun the night after the celebrations.

In them Haru was close enough for a kiss. He was pulling Rin’s black jubba down Rin’s shoulders. He was leading Rin’s hands to grope him around his waist, his backside, and inside the sirwal.  
Unlike his awake expression, in the dreams Haru’s face contorted with pleasure. He undid Rin’s sirwal and loincloth, and took Rin in his mouth. 

The image made it hard to look into Haru’s eyes, but harder still not to. If he leaned over a bit more, he could touch Haru with his cheek, or lips. If. Rin breathed out. Too stifling, the air was too stifling. 

In the dreamscape Haru was his, and in reality Rin was fishing for love with hooks and no bait.

‘Then if I make you care, if I make you mine, will you do what I ask of you?’ he thought, looking at the way Haru’s shoulder blade protruded under the half-shirt, at the way the light and shadows danced across his back. 

 

“Don’t tell me, little Haru, you can talk with the water now?” said Nagi. “Perhaps Haru can listen to the water and find out what’s wrong, like Saalih Sha’ir did.” 

“Haru’s father?” said Rin.

“Yes,” said Makeen. 

Haru leaned toward the water a bit too much, and Rin held him tightly. 

“Haru,” said Makeen, helping him from the other side. “It would not be good, Haruk Ah Bey, if you fell into the water,” said Makeen. 

“I didn’t ask for help,” said Haru. 

Rin wondered for whom that was intended. He didn’t let go of Haru, and likewise Haru didn’t tell him to. Instead Haru glanced back. Upon looking into Rin’s eyes, his expression changed barely noticeably in the light. A fast, mystifying flicker of eyelashes, a single twitch of lips, and Haru turned away already. He remained like this as if on purpose he would not look into Rin’s eyes. 

"Haha, imagine if little Haru fell in the water," said Nagi. "The citizens of Alamas would drink the water in which the Sha’ir bathed. Or imagine if someone were to pee in it."

Stupid brat. 

"Imagine if someone were to knock your teeth out," Rin said, looking back at Nagi. 

“Little Rin, your face is scary in the dark,” said Nagi, “especially your teeth. You know, I’ve been wondering if you sharpened them like the women of the tribes in…”

“I don’t sharpen them,” Rin said. He tried to turn around with his body, as well. “Why would I? And someone who wears women’s jewelry shouldn’t really be the one to talk about my teeth. That wedding jewelry and the veil, why do you wear them?” 

He saw signs of alarm on Rayn’s face. What was there to be alarmed about? 

The oil lamp in Nagi’s hands shook as he shrugged, and the flame flickered. “They look pretty, so why not?” 

“Watch the lamp,” Makeen called over Haru. 

“Haha, thank you,” said Nagi. The flame was close to his veil. “I got distracted. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m fine. I didn’t burn anything.” 

Even Haru chimed in. “It’s fine, so why should anyone care for the reasons? Let’s move on.” 

“I don’t care,” Rin said, “I don’t give a damn.” He felt as though there was not enough air down here.

Haru and Makeen both glanced at Rin as though it were Rin’s fault that Nagi was wearing wedding jewelry and couldn’t hold a lamp properly. 

“What?” said Rin. 

“Now, now,” said Nagi. “Did you find out anything, little Haru?” 

“No.” Haru looked down, into the dark water, where two orange reflections twinkled on the surface. “Nothing.”

While Rin didn’t know a lot about Sha’irs and their powers, this didn’t sound too auspicious. 

“Little Rin Meerza,” said Rayn. “Uh...Rin...Rinaz Meerza.” 

“What?” 

“I think it’s better if we end it here for today,” Rayn said. 

“Yes,” Nagi added. “I’m thirsty. And hungry. Let’s eat or I won’t be able to walk back to the palace. Let’s go eat.”

“Fine with me,” said Makeen, rubbing his brow. “The sooner we get out of here the better.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Rayn said. He gave his quill to Haru, who drew a Marid symbol on the stone ceiling.  
He had done the same in other canals. 

While Little Nagi was listing the food he wished to eat, Rin grabbed the hems of his overgarment again and began crawling toward the exit after Rayn. 

“I know where we should go,” said Rin. He knew this part of the city well, at least the upper level if not the canals. Yes, this was a good opportunity. 

“Really, little Rin?” Nagisa stopped for a moment. “Does that mean we’ll eat for free?” 

Rin shook his head, though Nagi couldn’t see. “No. There’s a coffeehouse not far from here, and I hope to meet the owner, since he is an acquaintance of mine.”

“Free food!” said Nagi. “Lokum with mastic. Figs.”

“Anything with eggplant,” said Rayn.

“Whatever is fine,” said Makeen.

“Mackerel,” said Haru.

“Sujuk,” said Rin.  
The Marids were pulling him into their pace. 

 

Outside the sun blinded Rin’s eyes. The guards helped him and the Marids out. He looked around for spies or any nobleman’s guards. Only the city guards stood in front of the qanat’s entrance. A lone bostanji archer in red uniform loitered far away and didn’t even seem to have recognized Rin. 

He was worrying too much. 

Nagi performed a few dancing steps and spun around. “Food, food. Let’s go quickly.”

Makeen stretched his limbs and murmured a prayer. Was he truly so afraid of dark tunnels and ghosts? 

Rin led them across the streets. 

“I was wondering about something, little Rin,” said Nagi. There it began. “How come you walk around without entourage? Don’t your advisers want to keep you safe?”

What to answer? 

Rin began to walk faster. “Only as formality demands it. A lone person is an easier target, and if a prince can be found dead, all the better. If claims can be made that the prince’s own rashness was to blame, because he wouldn't listen to words of wisdom, better still. Besides, how many sultans you wager died of old age?”

Nagi caught with Rin’s pace. “But you are the Prince, little Rin, can't you decide what to do? Like fixing the water supply? Can’t you do it? Or do the noblemen do everything for you?”

Couldn’t this brat remain quiet for a bit? He cast an angry look in Nagi’s direction, but Nagi only giggled in response.  
“There are affairs in which they let me have my way, and others in which they don't,” Rin said. Why was he even telling this, explaining to this childish marid? “That's how I know what holds great importance to them―the things I'm not allowed to touch.”

“Is there something more important than water, then?” said Nagi, folding the hands on his back. 

Rin shrugged. “Restoring everything should be the most important, but I fear the past can’t be brought back to life.”

“But you have us now,” said Little Nagi. “We won’t let you come to any harm. Right?” He nudged Rin and laughed. “We’ll help you.”

Precisely what Rin needed, Little Nagi’s help. 

He looked at Haru, whose posture went rigid the same moment. Haru turned away. His reactions to Rin were so different from the dreams, their discrepancy an abyss. In the short distance between him and Haru, there lay a precipice deep enough to swallow Rin for eternity. Once Haru glanced, and when he found Rin still watching, he widened his eyes, squeezed his lips, and looked away again. 

What to make of it Rin didn’t know.  
It hurt. That abyss was his weakness. It ached as a wound or a contusion, it ached each time he breathed in, each time he breathed out. Why? Each and every time he saw Haru, and also when he didn’t. Like a mangled limb it hurt. If he could, Rin would cut it off. He would cut Haru off. He’d cut it off just to stop the pain, to break the tender, sturdy spider web that coiled round his body and led to Haru’s feet. 

When Nagi patted his back, Rin nearly jumped up. “We’ll help you, so relax, little Rin.” Nagi’s lips spread into a large smile. “Just relax. You’ll get wrinkles if you keep that grim face of yours.”

How could Little Nagi be so happy? There were no more than four Marids to claim the name of the tribe, there was not enough water in Sarimah, and he was still talking about wrinkles and relaxation. Was he dumb or merely pretending? Could he really forget his troubles so easily?

For certain Rin wasn’t able to do the same with his own problems. His worries intruded on him, on his most private thoughts, just as the sand always sneakily found its way into the folds of his clothes. 

Right on the morning of the celebrations, one of his mother’s food testers died of poisoning. The Venerable Queen Dowager was fine and hale, but the event itself was worrisome. A reminder of power and the lack of it. It was a warning, what else? Or perhaps a diversion. It would not make sense to threaten the Prince with the life of his estranged mother otherwise.  
No wonder mother had made an appearance during the tournament. Certainly she wouldn’t have otherwise. Rin had appointed more guards to her side, more guards for Gohar, and he had ordered the guards to follow Nizamat not only along corridors, but also inside rooms and halls. Still he couldn’t stand any guard in his own bedchamber. Although he had appointed a few more guards in front the Marids’ rooms, he had ordered them not to follow inside so as not to spook the Marid tribe men. 

“Send her family the due compensation, and write her name in the list of honored ones,” he had said about the deceased food tester. 

Funny that while tragedy seemed unbearable if he experienced it first hand or as a witness, it affected him much less if he only heard of it. Rin could remember more vividly the few deaths to which he had witnessed than the thousands who had died away from his eyes. 

It was annoying, frightening even, that whichever step Rin took someone might have anticipated it. Someone might open the ground below Rin’s feet into a trap.  
Yet they should be safe enough for now. Unless the Vizier or someone else dispatched a group of assassins or an army after them, they should be safe in five, and in the contrary case probably not even a guard or two would help. Was Alamas safer than the deserts? Was it?

The noise and voices on the streets called him back to the present. His worries were like sand in his sirwal and in his mouth. Better not to think of them now. Rin dusted himself, as if that would help. 

Nagi was pulling Rayn’s hand toward a stall, Makeen was trying to calm them, and Haru was just a step ahead of Rin.  
Again Haru deigned him with a swift glance and nothing more.  
Why, why? 

Rin wanted to run up to him and turn him around, bid him to look at Rin’s face openly. 

As a child he had wished to become a superior, marvelous creature, and then Haru could not help but look at Rin and be attracted to him. What a childish outlook. An impossible one, too, for Rin wasn’t, he wasn’t a marvelous, superior creature, and the only way to make Haru gaze at him was by orders. As Haru was the Marid Sha’ir, a frustrating, cold man, he wouldn’t care for orders either. Rin had to laugh at himself for having compared Haru to the maidens from the poems just days earlier. There was nothing maiden-like in him. Haru was vexing and infuriating, and captivating more than any living person, more than any heavenly apparition could be. 

Rin dashed forward. He pulled Haru by the wrist and dragged him into a side alley. It was nearly empty. 

It would be dumb to ask, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ but Haru’s furtive glances and his avoidance were affecting Rin more than usual. They seemed more forced, more deliberate, and more disconnected, as if Haru had been throwing now flaming arrows in Rin’s direction and now raising a shield of ice. 

“Are you trying to avoid me?” said Rin. If Haru said yes, what then? Hadn’t it been always thus, Haru avoiding and Rin chasing?

Haru gulped. His fists clenched. His lips moved but uttered no sound at all. 

“Just tell me,” Rin said. He pushed Haru against the yellow wall of one of the houses.

Haru raised his arms, placed both on Rin’s torso to push Rin away, perhaps, but then one hand descended to Rin’s hips. Haru’s fingers pried beneath the sash, and touching the skin they traced the line of the sash across Rin’s abdomen. The touch tickled. The tips of Haru’s fingers stopped in the middle, below Rin’s navel. 

Haru glanced at Rin as though he were expecting to be reprimanded, or as if he was surprised by his own actions; Rin couldn’t guess which. 

Already Haru had let his hand drop. 

Without thinking, Rin placed his arms at each side of Haru’s shoulders, caging him. If the walls could open up and swallow them, let them fall in a world with nobody else… Just for a moment, a few moments would be enough. 

If he kissed Haru here, in the middle of the streets… No, that wouldn’t be…

His heart was following a frenzied rhythm, and Haru’s palm was still resting on his chest right above it. Rin’s body was the anvil, his heart the hammer striking mercilessly. No, Haru was the hammer, that gentle touch on his chest was the source. Rin couldn’t tell what he wanted anymore.

To turn Haru around and unclothe him. To fuck him. To kiss him. To scream and cry. Something of those. To make Haru squeal and moan. Nothing pretty, nothing noble. 

‘What am I?’ it crossed his mind. 

Haru’s nostrils widened and shrunk as he breathed, his eyes shone glossy, expecting.  
Rin felt his body, his soul shake. 

“Now it's not the time to quarrel. You can fight later with the stomach full if you will still feel so inclined.” 

Rin turned toward the voice. 

Rayn was huffing with the bag over his shoulder. “I wished to ask for the way to that coffeehouse, since only Meerza…” Then his eyes went wide, probably with the suspicion that he had not witnessed a quarrel.

Rin released Haru.

Swayed by passions, spurred by common low desires, like the lowest of men, like an animal in the middle of the streets... Rin closed his eyes to drive away the shame. 

Haru’s hand brushed over his as they walked, and Rin’s skin burned as a flame from an oil lamp, a torch, a bonfire, the very sun. His mind was filled with smoke and soot. 

“We’re close,” he said, smothering his whirling senses with reason. 

Rayn must have been tiring from carrying that bag by himself. It was his own fault, however. Makeen had offered to carry the bag instead of him, but Rayn had declined, since the contents were ‘too precious and needed special care.’ Those had been Rayn’s words, at least. 

Rin glanced around to find Little Nagi and Makeen. Then he noticed the red spot farther back at the beginning of the street. 

Red bostanji uniform, his face half-hidden with a rough white cloth, and with bow and arrows.

There was no doubt; that same bostanji had been around earlier, at the previous entrance inside the qanat. He had been trailing Rin. 

Rin looked at the ground and started walking slowly in the man’s direction. The bostanji noticed and began to run. 

“I order you to stop,” Rin yelled and sprung into a run as well. 

“Where are you going, little Rin?” he heard from behind. 

The man in red turned at a street corner, and there Rin found him waiting. Scanning the surroundings for bostanji’s reinforcements, Rin grabbed after his janbiya. There was nobody suspicious. It seemed this was a lonely spy, not a full ambush. 

“Who are you? Why are you following me?” Rin said. “Speak.”

“It seems you caught me,” said the bostanji. 

What?  
The voice, the carnelian eyes above the mouth cover, the figure; this was undoubtedly…

“Gohar,” said Rin. “What are you doing here?”

Haru and the others caught up with Rin. 

“Little Go, is that really you?”said Little Nagi. “Why are you dressed like this? I thought you were a man.” 

“You can see even from afar she is a woman,” Haru said. 

Rin released the hilt of his dagger. “What are you doing here? Dressed like this, moreover.” 

Gohar pulled her white shawl over her nose, as if to hide. “I was a bit worried for you, and I wanted to be of use, brother.”

Rin folded his arms. “How did you get outside unescorted? Where are your guards?” Then the bow caught his eye, and something Seyjur had said at the tournament came to his mind. “Has Seyjur been training you with the bow?”

“Ah,” said Gohar. She took a step back. “Just a little.”

“I don’t remember giving permission for that,” Rin said. If Gohar ever thought of using those skills in a dangerous situation instead of running, such overconfidence might cost her dearly. “I’ll accompany you back to the palace.” 

“No.” Gohar shook her head. “I’m coming with you. You said I could go wherever I want and do whatever I want. You promised that.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean…”

“Or did you just mean that I can do whatever and go wherever as long as I remain locked inside the palace?” 

Rin brushed the hair from his face. “No, that’s not what I meant.”  
It was precisely what he had meant, but now that Gohar had said out aloud, it sounded hypocritical, an empty promise to appease a child, and Gohar was not a child. 

“Then I’m coming with you,” said Gohar. 

Nagi winked at her. “You’re in luck, little Go, we’re about to get free food.” 

“Free food? What do you mean?” Gohar looked at Rin with uncertainty, and then shifted her attention back to Nagi. “Wait, you said ‘little Go’ again. I’ve told you it’s Gohar.”

Nagi hid behind Rin. “Little Go sounds better.” 

That kid behaved even worse than usual. Had something happened?

“Stop it,” said Rin. “Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

Nagi made a dance of victory, pulling Rayn and Gohar with him. He started to talk about his favorite dishes.

Cautiously Rin glanced at Haru, and, of course, Haru avoided his eyes again.

Why? Why couldn’t at least one thing go his way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm sorry for any remaining mistakes in the fic. 
> 
> So what should be one chapter is going to be three, and I'm still having this problem of "8k words." Why do I mean? When I posted the first chapter I thought I only needed 8k words more, well, now I still miss just 8k more. I bet that after 3 more chapters I will still need only 8k more. *sigh*  
> Could be worse, I guess (it was worse with some other stories), but it's annoying that no matter how much I write, there's always those 8k until I'm done.  
> And I feel a bit dejected because I don't have time for much else, not even to read other things. So I'm posting this thing, but I'm not really part of the fandom, and IDK, I'm questioning why I'm even writing this. Plus, I still haven't got ridden of the flu (yeah), so I feel like sending everything to hell. I will finish the fic, since I only need 8k more (lol), but I feel kind of shitty about even having started something that takes more energy and time than I have.  
> I'm sorry for the rant, but I just needed to put this somewhere. Feel free to ignore.
> 
> Again, thank you a lot for reading the fic.


	9. Tiger and Gazelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goro Sasabe - Ghorozang  
> Miho Amakata - Amameera

A strong, familiar scent of coffee wrapped his senses at the entrance. Rin recognized also nutmeg, caraway, and saffron. The coffeehouse, which its patrons called the Tiger's Tail, teemed with loud men. Some were sitting on the cushions and drinking, others inhaled the smokes from hookah. Some other patrons still were playing checkers and chess and solving all kinds of riddles for the mind. There stood three meddah in the crowd, each in a different part of the hall, each retelling a different story to those who would lend him their ears. 

After the dark, stuffy tunnels, the throng and voices and the smells seemed more like a colorful apparition from old tales than the reality, an assault on all senses. Rin wondered why he felt thus. Because of hunger and thirst? Because of his distaste for brightness and common people? Or because Haru’s presence made everything alive? 

They sat on the cushions. On one side sat Gohar, still covering her face and clutching her bow with her hands. On his other side sat Haru, close enough for their knees to touch, and when either Rin or Haru moved, their knees grazed against each other. How such a small matter could have all this effect, Rin couldn’t understand. From his knee to his stomach and to his back a pleasant, tickling sensation soared, as if caused by the touch of invisible fingertips. 

Close to Gohar, Rayn was carefully guarding his bag and muttering from time to time. "The angle is incorrect, perhaps,” he said. “Only for a few degrees, so it’s imperceptible, really, but if we consider the entire length of the qanat, the slope would become considerable. That's so, isn't it?"

He looked into Rin’s eyes. Was he expecting an answer? An answer to what, precisely?

Already Rayn turned away. “No, maybe it isn’t. Yet the first we’ve seen could be…should be affected by such problem.” 

Nagi walked to him and tried to move the bag away, but Rayn stopped him.

"There is no place here," he said to Nagi.

"Come on, don't be so malicious, little Rayn,” said Nagi, trying to snatch the bag. “I won't break anything. Don’t be angry."

Rayn pressed his lips into a displeased line, and his brow furrowed. "So you say." With his hand he shielded the bag. "There is no more place here."

Nagi sighed and returned to his seat next to to Makeen.

Ghorozang himself came to greet them after a while. “What an honor,” he said and bowed his head. 

He had gotten older, with more lines to his face, but neither his fashion nor his nature had changed.  
He still sported a tiny dark beard and dyed bright hair, and his moustache was sprinkled under his nose, almost like tiny cat whiskers. A battle scar ran from his temples up behind his ears, shaped almost like a star.

He donned a bright overrobe patterned with flowers and tiger’s stripes. A shabby, old tiger’s skin he had brought from his excursions in the East, was hanging across his shoulders. 

He had brought three cups of coffee, some yoghurt, tea, and water. 

“You can have more honors than that, if you wish,” said Rin. “I have not forgotten your bravery and knowledge.”

Ghorozang lifted one eyebrow. “Honors? Meaning? If it’s anything concerning battles, I decline. I'm not cut for those anymore.”

Ghorozang left for a bit and returned with sweets, shelled pistachios, and other delicacies. 

Rin had already prepared his line. “I could conscript you.”

“And I can piss on the conscription.” Ghorozang let out a deep laugh. “My time has passed.”

It would have been guileless of Rin to think that Ghorozang would be more accommodating toward the Prince’s requests than the councilors and the Marids. Luckily Rin wasn’t so naïve. 

“You can,” said Rin, “but you'll be still conscripted if I choose so.”

Ghoro adjusted his old tiger skin. “Times have caught up with me. Things just don’t work the same way they used to, and that goes for me also.”

“Then isn’t it time for a change, a new era?” Rin whispered. “Don’t you miss a more adventurous life? I need you to assist the Marid tribe men and me. As you travelled with them once to the East, would you not be inclined to aid them now?”

“Marid tribe men?” said Ghoro, a bit too loudly. “If you find any of them, I’ll even believe in this new era you speak about.” 

Rin rose and whispered to Ghorozang, “There are four of them in front of you.” 

Old Ghoro’s eyes opened wide. “You jest. These kids?”

“We need something more substantial to eat,” Nagi mumbled, his mouth stuffed with candies. “A proper meal.”

“This is a coffeehouse,” Ghoro said, “not a kitchen.”

Rin shrugged his shoulders. “Then find a kitchen, Ghorozang Bey.” 

Ghoro observed Nagi and the rest with arms crossed, distrust seeping from his gaze. 

Rayn jumped up, hit his forehead, and screamed, “Not the incline at all. Of course, why haven’t I noticed it sooner?”

“Just eat something,” Nagi said.

Makeen was smiling, and Haru was dipping his fingers inside the water in his cup. Gohar sat with her coffee untouched. 

“You jest,” Ghoro repeated.

“I wish,” Rin said. 

The meddah who was closest to them began to recite another tale. 

“Ah,” said Ghorozang, but instead toward the kitchen, he ran to the storyteller and whispered something into his ear, at which the meddah began recounting a different story.

Once a renowned general and Rin’s tutor, now what had become of Ghorozang? He was naught but a common merchant.

He had used to be exigent in his prime. Rin remembered that time when Rin and Haru fought with unsharpened scimitars under his supervision. Rin had wanted to show Haru the entire palace. Even more he had wanted to show how well versed he had been in swordsmanship, yet Haru had been doing just as well as the Prince, or better, much to Rin’s frustration.  
Ghorozang had showered him with incessant instructions and demands; “Is that how a Prince fights? Put your knees like that,” “Your left flank is open,” “What are you doing with your arms?” “Focus already,” and Rin had unintentionally answered, “Yes, Venerable Mother.”

Everyone had laughed, even Makeen, who had seemed scared of fights.

Even Makeen? Rin turned around. 

“I remember you,” he said. “I just remembered you.”

“Me?” Makeen said. His smile became warmer. 

“And me? What about me?” Nagi spread his arms. “Do you remember me, too, little Rin?”

Rin rattled his mind for additional memories. “No.”

“That’s unfair, little Rin.” Instead of sulking, Nagi stretched over Makeen and Haru and filched a dry fig from Rin’s hand. “Really unfair.”

“Give that back,” Rin said, but Nagi had already pushed it into his mouth.

“Shood I geeh eeth bah?” Nagi placed his palm close to his mouth, probably to spit the fig. 

“No, keep it,” Rin said. “Keep it, I don’t want it anymore.”

Gohar pulled her shawl under her nose, looking at her coffee, but then she placed the cover up again. Of course, if she unveiled her face, she might attract strange glances. A woman in a soldier’s uniform. When Ghoro would return, he’d ask him for a private chamber where they might all eat in peace. 

 

“No, no,” said the closest patron, a man who appeared to have found more than coffee and similar beverages in the coffeehouse. It appeared clear now why the Divan wished to close the Tiger’s Tail and similar establishments.  
“Tell the previous one,” the man croaked, “the one you began earlier. That one story is good. The one with the mad prince and the water maiden. How he tried to make a hole into her, between her hips of water.”

For an instant Rin thought he had misheard. Were they talking about him, or about his father? No, impossible. That would be preposterous. 

Gohar twined her hand with his. “Brother,” she said in s a soothing tone. 

“That part,” said the man, “the one where the vizier takes the prince’s breechcloth and tears it because his dick is too big, that part is fun.”

“Pay no attention to them,” whispered Makeen, leaning over Haru toward Rin. “In crowded places drunken men say all sorts of things.” 

The man didn’t look so drunk that he should be spurting offences against the Royal family.  
Obviously Makeen had missed the theme, the theme that might unite Alamas against the Prince. To think Rin had even ordered to reopen the fountains for a day. For whom? For half-drunk, lowbred citizens such as this one?

“No,” said the man’s companion in green and yellow robe. “I like better the next part, when the mad prince puts on the vizier’s soiled breechcloth, but it’s too big and it falls down in front of the Divan. So the mad prince wraps the vizier’s breechcloth on his head instead of a turban.”

In an instant, Rin’s body went rigid. How dared they? And Ghorozang, too. The tale that meddah had been about to recite… The councilors had been right. The coffeehouses were a breedingplace for insurrection, just as uncle Jaleel had said.  
He was about to get up and pound the table, but Haru was quicker. 

In few steps, Haru was already in front of the men. He pointed at their drinks. “If you speak profanities in front of water, then you don’t have the right to drink.”

Was he trying to help? Was he doing this for Rin?

“What’s wrong with you, lad?” said the first man. “Hey.” He pushed into Haru with one hand. “Hey, you.”

Rin jumped to his feet.

Ghorozang came in between to calm them down. “What happened here? Is there anything you need? Whatever you need, I’ll be sure to accommodate my patrons if that’s possible. More coffee?” 

Haru returned and sat close to Rin. 

Rin clenched his jaw. Bursting out now would be detrimental to his goals. He had to restrain his anger and use it at a more opportune time, as he had been learning to do with the Divan. 

‘Calm down,’ he told himself in his mind. ‘Calm down.’

Then he spoke. “I have a need of something, Ghorozang Bey.” His voice was anything but calm and composed, however. “You hear many interesting stories here.”

Ghoro coughed. “I only hear what anyone in Alamas hears, nothing more.”

“Then you will tell me what just anyone in Alamas hears,” Rin said. “If and when I’ll need your talents and services as a Mushir, you will oblige.”

While Ghoro trailed Rin and the Marids with his gaze, obviously pondering on how to respond, a kid weaseled his way through the crowd. He tugged Rin's robe and pushed something into his palm.

A piece of paper in Northern scripture. “Keep calm.”

Rin glanced around the coffeehouse. 

She was there. Amameera, in a black robe. Her silken niqab of dark colors had jewels and coins stitched on it. Only her dark, gazelle-like eyes, shadowed with kohl, contemplated the world. As she moved toward them, Rin saw the dance hidden in her steps, heard the tinkle of her jewelry. 

What was she doing? Someone might recognize her. The last time Rin had seen her, she had been dressed more plainly, in a less conspicuous manner. 

“What?” whispered Ghoro. He must have recognized her. The cup he had held in his hands fell and broke. “You look familiar.” 

“I do not know you, I fear,” Amameera said softly. “We have not met.”

“I feel that we have,” said Ghoro, scratching his head absent-mindedly. “There was once a beauty such as you, with eyes just like yours. The world had not seen a dancer like her, and when she spun, the entire world stopped to admire her. The sultan too, he took her as a concubine and named her as a princess, added Ameera to her name. So caged in the palace she died of grief. The poor girl threw herself from the highest tower of the sultan’s haram. Does the story sound familiar? You look like her as tear looks like another.” 

“Stories of the likes you told are not uncommon, I fear, when women have no power over their lives and bodies.” She tilted her head. “I have nothing to say to a man who importunes women. A grown man should not look for a lover in the eyes of a stranger. Have a modicum of modesty; every prophet advises so.” 

“I,” said Ghoro, and by the way he kept knitting his brow, and looking now at Amameera and now at Rin, Rin could guess the trail of his thoughts. Ghoro had encountered a ghost, and now he was unraveling why the ghost had flesh, and why the Prince was not as bewildered as him. 

“I see,” Ghrozang said. He seemed beside himself yet trying to smile and keep his voice level. “A rumor trickled out from the palace that the Prince has a lover and has forgotten all his duties to the realm. They say the Prince drinks wine and spills water all nights. They say that for pleasure he even left the Divan to fend for itself, preferring women to a learned word. I guess some of it is true. I guess…”

“You guess you should close your mouth now, is that not so?” Amameera whispered. 

Ghorzang bit into his lower lip. “Of course, yes, that’s precisely what I was thinking.” 

“I haven't forgotten my duties.” Rin said. “You should take care of your business instead of mine. Your story tellers and puppeteers have besmirch my name, is that not correct? You should be glad I insisted that your coffeehouse should remain open when the Divan insisted otherwise. Of course, that could be rectified the next time the councilors bring up the name of Tiger’s Tail, unless you give me reason enough to convince them otherwise.” 

“You’ve grown, Meerza,” said Ghorozang. 

Had he noticed only now? 

“Is there no other place to keep privacy?” said Rin. “I need to...talk with her.”

“Of course,” Ghoro said. He moved slowly, as if his legs could not quite walk. 

Rin looked back at his companions. “Wait here for a bit.”

He caught Haru’s gaze then, those wide blue eyes lined with…jealousy? Haru stood. His eyes didn't wander away from Rin’s face, and neither did they flinch. If he and Rin were to remain like this a bit longer, the world would disappear again, Rin knew.

“Move now,” said Amameera, grabbing Rin by the sleeve.

Haru made to say something, but then he sat back and took a serving of cakes instead.

Rin smirked. Was he jealous? There was no need.

Ghorozang led them into a small chamber with pots and various provisions, and left only when Amameera insisted upon that. 

Now that they were alone, she passed a roll of paper to Rin, and he hid it beneath his robe. 

Amameera quickly examined the room. She took off her veil. “My Prince, have you not read my message? I’ve sent a pigeon two nights ago.”

“I should ask the same of you,” Rin said. “I’ve sent a dove, but you didn’t reply.”

“As I thought. There must be someone, a pigeon catcher, probably on your side. You should be more careful about whom you trust. Your dove was probably never sent.”

Rin shook his head. “No, I’ve released it myself. I’ve seen the dove take flight into the city. There must be a catcher on your side, or inside Alamas.”

“That’s not probable,” Ama said. “I trust my Rats, and nobody in the position to steal the message, or a pigeon, would do it. I’m willing to stake my life on it. It’s none of my Rats. It must be a spy within the palace.” 

“It’s not only your life at the stake,” Rin said. He thought of the old man at the dovecote. “And no.”

“We better stop the correspondence for a bit, until we figure this out,” she said. “They had been using the pigeons instead of couriers to transport their messages because that had been the safest route, yet now it appeared that held truth no longer.

Ama walked to the entrance, pulled the curtains, but there was nobody outside. “The mechanisms to open the passages, do you still unlock them the same way? Did you change them? If anything urgent happens, I might have to come to you myself.” 

Rin smiled. “Didn't you say you'd rather die than return to the palace for a single day?” 

She answered with a shrug. “Times change and we with them.”

Rin took a few more moments to think it through, and then he said, “I haven’t changed anything. The secret passages are still as you know them.”

“Good. Now to what I have to tell you. The Springy Gazelle made a move and met with the Scorpion and others again, but it seems the Scorpion has plans on his own and still resists.” 

Springy Gazelle was uncle Aaarif. His name stemmed from years earlier, from what he had told in regard to Ama’s wishes to study with men and participate directly in their debates. He had said that gazelles existed solely for the purpose and the pleasure of the men hunting them, and that it would look ungainly if a gazelle pretended to be a lion. 

While Rin hadn't fully understood the meaning of such comparison back then, it had seemed funny to him that frail uncle Aarif, who had never hunted in his life, had said that. It had been even funnier when Amameera had secretly begun to call Aarif as Springy Gazelle, when he had always been scarcely springier than a corpse.

“After that the Scorpion met with the Yellow Beetle,” Ama said, “and if my source be true, they talked about making use of your water man.”

“They want to use Haru?” Rin said. Uncle Jaleel and Haman Bey intended to use Haru?

Amameera sighed. “Let us call him crested fish from now on.”

“That’s too obvious,” Rin said, searching his mind for another name. “Black Bird. Let’s call him Black Bird.”

“Fine.” Amameera fixed her eyes upon the entrance again before looking back at Rin. “I don't know in which manner they mean to use the Black Bird, but I think they do not mean not harm him. You’re not in an immediate danger, and he isn’t either. Pretend to be weak and submissive until you get your chance to learn more.”

“You don't need to lecture me,” Rin said, folding his arms as Ama motioned to him to lower his voice. 

“And the Lion?” whispered Rin. If there was any news regarding Seyjur’s loyalties, he’d like to know.

“The Lion Cub still doesn't leave his den. I think he’s yours. Now what about your messages?” 

“As you probably know, we’ve began with the repairs of the waterworks,” Rin said. “There are no maps about the canals in the Pauper’s End, so I wanted to ask you if you could use your Rats to procure some sketches.”

Ama nodded. “In the Broken End, no noblemen ever cared about us or about our water, so the repairs were few. I think that’s why we manage better than some other districts. Ironic, isn’t it? As my favorite scholar once said…” 

Rin cut her off with a wave of a hand. “Not now. I need some basic sketches nevertheless, because the qanat is connected above the entire city, and the condition in one canal might affect the others. At least the Marid scholar would lead me to believe so. I think. But allow me a small curiosity. Can Rats truly be taught?”

Amameera made a small shrug. “Better than some princes.” 

“Are they trained well, then, the Rats?” said Rin.

“Not trained, Rin, educated. There is an important distinction between the two, one the scholars like to forget.” Ama’s countenance changed, became the familiar visage of a teacher explaining her lessons. “Knowledge is not meant to lock people into a single, restricting role, be it officer or artisan or servant, it’s meant to free them, expand their minds over more realities than their bodies can reach. It’s fuel for imagination, not its end. I can see in your eyes the look of those old men, and I do not like it. Don’t let them lock you in. In the palace I've lived inside a cage of my own making, it pains me to see you live in it, too.”

It took this little to remind Rin why he had missed Ama. There was nobody he could talk to in the palace. There he was alone. Those who would listen were not worthy of trust, whilst those few Rin trusted needed the protection of his silence more than his open heart. Furthermore, he could not allow more weakness to his position.

“It’s easy for you to speak,” Rin said.  
Even more than scholars, another man tormented his heart, but he couldn’t possibly speak of this to Ama. Or could he? No, it would be too embarrassing, and why should she gain the benefits of knowing?

“Is that the Sha’ir, the one with black hair?” Amameera said, almost like reading Rin’s thoughts. “He was but a boy when I met him first. You know, I may be Marid in part. My mother told me that my father was a Marid, but who really knows? But that’s why since my tender age, I was dreaming of adventures, of something big and incredible that was awaiting me.” A soft, nostalgic smile colored her face. “For a time I even joined the Marids on their travels and learned much from them. Dancing and scriptures and love for life. I haven’t told you that, have I?”

“You have not,” Rin said. “People used to say that Amameera danced like water. I guess I understand now.”  
Indeed, he could have guessed earlier. Father must have met Ama through Haru’s tribe men, it made sense. Another thought came to his mind. Although the Marids had been known as dancers, Rin couldn’t remember having seen Haru dance even once. 

“Like water,” Ama said, snorting. “Water has many aspects and even more expressions; from the gentle rushing of a stream, to the still of well water, to the wilderness of a sea in storm, to the inaudible sound of the blood in your veins.” Her fingers moved as if to emulate the waves, and the chinks of her bracelets accompanied the dance of her hands. “From the tears we shed, to the spits for our foes, to the water that trickles up the stem of a rose and makes leaves green. Innumerous are the faces the water, and I dabbed only in few.” 

Her bracelets and other jewelry jingled again as she leaned closer. “Tell me, my Prince, about the Sha’ir, is it true that his demeanor is calm and reticent?”

“I guess,” said Rin, adding then in a lower voice, “I don’t know what to do with him.” 

Ama didn’t understand his words, she hadn't caught their meaning. “I feared so,” she said. “It is what my sources have told me.”

It was useful as well as cumbersome having an additional source of information inside the palace. Amameera had the advantage of gathering her sources outside the palace walls, as well. Rin had never asked about her spies, like she hadn’t asked about his, for it was safer that way. It was also more intricate. At least this arrangement offered to Rin a more complete picture. It put more threads in his hands when he and Ama exchanged information.  
The councilors had their spies too, planted as thistle among tulips, and among those, one or two of Amameera’s desert flowers grew. If one wanted to decipher who worked for whom, which way the loyalties of every player turned and how they changed, he’d realize that chess was a simple, astonishingly simple game in comparison. 

“While I can’t claim much knowledge about Marid practices and magic,” said Ama, “I remember a few conversations I had with Saalih Bey, the previous Sha’ir.”

“You knew Haru’s father well?”

Amameera made a noncommittal gesture with her head. “Somewhat. He said that as the great Nahal river travels and changes from its source to its outfall, so a Sha’ir must change and mature through the course of his life. There’s time of calm and time of action. If a Sha’ir doesn’t learn the expressions of the water, his magic will also remain lacking. In the times we lived, without proper guidance, I fear Haruk Ah might have remained locked inside one single expression.” 

So kindly she had described the years of war. 

“Stuck without any expression at all would be a more correct description,” Rin said. Most Haru’s expressions were rudiments of what a common person would show. 

Amameera let out a sigh. “It’s not my place to change that. Yet if you desire his help, you might need to help him first. A true Marid Sha’ir, do you even know the worth of that? Of what you have in your hands? Kings would die and kill to have a Sha’ir follow them. That’s why, Rin… If someone places a glass of clean water in front of you, take it. It would be foolish not to.”

She meant that he had to make good use of this opportunity, to utilize the tools and allies at his disposal, but Rin could think only of Haru and his features, his skin, the way they had shifted in the dreams. 

“I would not say he follows me.” Rin could not keep it to himself anymore, for it would tear him apart if he tried. “We kiss, but I don’t understand his heart,” he whispered.

He had said it. He had said it to someone. 

“I thought that was a rumor,” said Amameera. “It came to me only once, so I thought my friendly source exaggerated.”

“Forget it,” said Rin. “Forget I said anything.” If there were a hole in the ground, he would hide inside. 

“Why?” said Ama, touching his arm briefly. “The spirits have blessed you. There are rulers who turn to stone, and you are not one of them. You are human, and you are blessed.”

Shaking his head, Rin said, “It doesn’t feel like a blessing. It hurts. Didn’t you hear? I think Haru might not…I don’t know. I just shouldn’t…” 

He stopped to untangle this web of pain that would have him spill all the words, all the thoughts from his tongue. 

Amameera stood in silence for a while, and then she caressed his cheek. “Do not feel shame for this. Love is always a blessing from the spirits. If you feel shame for it, you feel shame for what you are, and for what the spirits have created. Don’t let it be tainted.”

“You don’t understand,” Rin said. 

“I do,” Ama said, “but I can’t advise you, I fear. I’d advise caution, but love has little use of it. I’d advise honesty, but the palace eats and regurgitates every semblance of it, and I would not have you exposed to danger. You have to decide on your own. Death is the price of living, pain is the price of loving. Remember that. No creature can change this truth. Not the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea, not me, not the Sha’ir, and not the Prince.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Rin whispered. A burning ghost of tears rested beneath his eyelids, but it would not take form. He would not allow it. His heart was imploding into nothing. 

 

“Brother, may I come in?” Rin recognized the voice as Gohar’s. 

“You may,” he said.

Gohar entered, freed her face from her shawl, and whispered, “It’s you.” She ran to Ama and embraced her. 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Amameera said. “Are you well? Do you have more friends now? I’ve seen a few earlier. Or do you plan to build a harem of your own? At least the eye has something to gaze upon. A hale body for a hale mind, for the beauty of the body pleases the spirits.”

Gohar placed her index finger on her own lips and tilted her head toward Rin.

What was Amameera talking about? The Marids? Their bodies?

“Don’t fill her head with weird thoughts,” Rin said, feeling as if he were intruding on some women’s talk, or rather as this women’s talk was intruding on him. 

“Weird thoughts?” said Ama. “If you enjoy the view of a nicely build body and its curves, why wouldn’t she?” 

“She’s too young, and I bet she doesn’t have the time or inclination to think of…” said Rin. “Well.”

“There’s nothing wrong with liking also the bodies that hold the soul. Or let’s just drop this subject,” Gohar said, covering her cheeks. Her face was turning as red as her uniform, and under her cap, her ears were likely of the same shade. 

Wasn’t she too young? Hadn’t she said only days ago that she wasn’t thinking of husbands and marriage yet? His little sister. His little sister was growing up.  
Rin squatted and pulled his kufiya from his head.  
At times he had considered how her marriage would affect his power should she marry this or that official, or this or that prince. To think that day might not be so far away…  
He brushed his hair back. Of course, he had promised not to meddle with her choices, but the thought of Gohar leaving his side filled him with strange confusion. It appeared more real than before, more inevitable. What little he had of family would break apart.

In front of him, the folds of the curtain moved in a suspicious manner. Rin noticed the tips  
of shoes at the bottom. 

“Brother?” said Gohar.

“Reveal yourself,” said Rin, standing up again, “instead of spying on me.”

Amameera quickly fixed her veil upon her face.

The curtain drew open, and Little Nagi’s smiling face came into view. “Haha, so you noticed. It wasn’t really me who spied…I mean, we didn’t spy. Yes, it’s just… Haru was interested in what was happening. With the covered lady and...that.”

He pulled Haru by the hand. 

“Don’t pull me into your machinations,” Haru said. Was it merely Rin’s impression or was there a hint of blush on his cheekbones? 

Amameera measured with her eye Haru, the other Marids that poured into the room, and Ghorozang at the doorstep. “I can tell you what is happening.” Once more she removed her veil.  
“Though you may not remember me, I know you, Sha’ir of the Marids. I came to pay you tribute.  
Long years ago, I joined your kin, or should I say my kin, perhaps, in the journey to the North and the West. Your mother showed me great kindness then, though I had no proof of my blood.”

“One of us?” said Nagi.

Rayn glanced at Makeen. “Do you remember any of that?” 

“I admit I do not,” Makeen said. “A few outsiders joined each trip, it would be impossible to remember all. We were probably too young to pay attention to such things, too.”

Amameera reached around her neck with her hands, under her robe, and brought forth a leather necklace with an amulet shaped as a small tube.  
“I think you should have it, as it’s your mother’s handiwork,” she said, took Haru’s hand, and placed the amulet in his palm. “Let it guard you from evil in your wake and in your dreams.”

“Little Haru,” said Nagi. “It’s just like the amulets your mother used to make. The azure tint of this strip looks just like…” 

Makeen and Nagi encircled Haru. Rayn narrowed his eyes behind his spectacles and bent over Haru’s hand.

Even Rin recognized the braided leather stripes and the embellishments on the cylinder as traditional Marid work. He remembered its importance. His father had owned a similar amulet. Perhaps it was still waiting dusty in father’s chambers. When Rin had asked what was inside, father had said only it was a secret. The Marid people had used to give such amulets to the Marids who had chosen to live apart from the tribe, or the outsiders whom the Marids had regarded highly enough to consider as members of their tribe. 

“My name is Ama, but people call me Amameera.” She kneeled in front of Haru. May the water give you all its blessings.” 

“May the water flow freely,” said Haru. His fingers enclosed the amulet as if he were holding the most precious of treasures. “If my mother accepted you, then you are one of us.”

“Now we are in five, then.” Nagi clapped his hands. “We have Little Ama, too.” 

Only then Rin recognized the intent behind her apparel. How stupid he was sometimes. Amameera hadn’t failed at hiding her identity, no, she had succeeded at making others recognize it, as had been her plan. 

He looked at Ghorozang. “Are five Marids numerous enough to warrant your aid?” said Rin.

“Y…yes,” said Ghoro. His mouth was still hanging open. 

“Now show us to a more private room and bring us proper food,” Rin said. “My bostanji would appreciate fewer eyes on her.”

“Your bostanji? Her?” With his eyes Ghorozang measured Gohar from her toes to her head. “Uh…Princess? Is this…are you? I am…honored.”

Amameera hid her face behind her veil and bowed. “I have to take my leave now. We shall meet again.”

“Wait,” said Ghorozang. “I thought you dead. You can’t simply leave.”

“There are times for words and times for silence. Now is the time for silence. I can’t remain here any longer.” She began to walk outside, and no one barred her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you for reading. :) I'm sorry for any possible mistakes. 
> 
> I'm sorry also for skipping the glossary in the last chapters. I'll try to add it next time. 
> 
> About that more erotic stuff that was supposed to happen in chapter 9, it's pushed back a bit (but I finally got around to write it), because some chapters were too long. Sorry. 
> 
> Also, I bastardized the name 'Ghorzang' to make it closer to Goro's name. No Ghorzangs and Ghorozangs harmed in the process, hopefully.


	10. Torn Silk

Well fed and tired they left the Tiger’s Tail. The afternoon sun was still bright. 

Slowly they walked, Nagi and Gohar still in high spirits, Haru still taciturn, Makeen still with the expression of mild contentment, and Rin wishing for nothing else than the comforts of his own palace and his own bed. Yet more than the comforts of his bed Rin wished for... With caution he glanced at the Sha’ir.

Haru was looking in turn at his feet and the roofs, but not at Rin. Even a Sha’ir could sulk, it seemed. He had fastened Amameera’s talisman next to the simple janbiya that Rin’s servants had given him the previous day. 

“Red-eyed Basha,” someone whispered. “You should leave before they find you,” the man said. He was of Rin’s age, perhaps, but much taller. His green robe paled from the dust that was clinging to it. His bedraggled appearance and the fresh slashes across his chest proved that he must have come from a recent battle. Sweat and stink adorned his body. His swarthy hand did not leave the hilt of his sword, yet his brown eyes and the lines on his face showed more concern than threat. “So says this lowly Rat,” he said. “Red-eyed Basha must leave now, if he cares for his safety and his friends.”

Nagi came close and reached high with his arm to tap the Rat on the shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Leave? Why?” said Rin. “Who told you so?” 

As to respond to Rin’s question, several guards came from a side alley, cutting Rin and Nagi from Gohar and the other Marids. 

“They are here.” The Rat pushed Rin behind him, away from the guards. “I’ll keep them busy, you run.”

“Here they are,” called one guard.

“Those are city guards,” Rin said. “Why would they…”

He silenced himself midsentence. There existed several reasons why they would.

Indeed the guards did not appear to search for a Rat, a thief, or similar trespasser, they seemed more interested in Rin. If Rin gave an order now, they would ignore him, such impression they gave.

“And you?” said Rin to the Rat. Rather than run he would fight. 

Amameera’s man didn’t even glance Rin’s way. “Rat knows cracks in streets, Basha doesn’t. You’re a nuisance here. Go.”

Rayn called something, and Nagi nodded. Between the guards, Rin saw that Haru grabbed Gohar’s hand and moved away from the men in red uniforms. 

The Rat unsheathed his swords and let out a battle cry. How could he survive? What cracks could he possibly hide into?

Rayn said something to Makeen, but they were both already retreating. 

 

“Quickly, little Rin,” said Nagi. 

“But Gohar…and Haru…” Rin said. 

“They’ll be fine,” Nagi said, pulling Rin by the hand. “Trust them a little.”

Trust them?

With his head in confusion, Rin let Little Nagi lead him across the streets of Alamas. 

“We’ve lost them,” said Nagi ’twixt his breaths after a while. “Let’s wait here, little Rin. Just a little.”

“We should return,” Rin said, looking back. How could he have left Gohar behind? Haru might know how to fight, but Gohar… And that Rat could not have survived alone, could he?

“No,” said Nagi. “We need to get to the meeting place.”

“Meeting place?” Rin said.

“Yes, if anything were to happen, we agreed to run in separate ways to confuse the attackers, and once we’ve shook them off, we meet again at a point next to the bazaar. The others will be fine. It’s not the first time in my life that…” Nagi went silent. “Shhh,” he said.

In an instant Rin saw why. 

Coming towards them was a man in dusty and frayed clothes, with a kaskara in his right hand, and the sheath on his back. His appearance was too obvious, his sword too noticeable; more than a trained assassin he appeared a random sellsword from the Southwest of Sarimah. His black eyes emanated a sense of hostile urgency. His dirty black turban was hiding the rest of his face. Would a Rat be so guised to help the Prince? The man made no sign to call for reinforcements.  
Instead he walked toward them. 

Rin did not take his janbiya yet, but he prepared his hand for the quick movement, if need would arise. Next time he’d take also a sword or two.

Should they run? Should he try to take the man as hostage? 

Nagi took off one slipper. What was he doing? If he was planning to hit the man with the slipper… Great, the kid was cleaning his slippers of splinters. 

“Do you know this man, little Rin?” Nagi whispered.

Was the stranger after all a Rat? No, from the look in his eyes to his movements, nothing appeared amiable. 

Two citizens ran away, sensing troubles. The street remained deserted.

Rin glanced back. It would not be wise to return precisely to that from which they were escaping. Plus, if he caught this man…he’d be closer to finding the master or contractor behind the attack. 

Nagi was probably useless in a fight, but there was only one opponent here. 

“We’ll run past him, one on each side,” he whispered. Dagger against sword were not an ideal match, but that wouldn’t matter. When Nagi would have run away, Rin could fight the man. He knew a technique or two to disarm opponents, and many others to knock them unconscious, or dead. 

“What took you so long?” Rin said to the man. On purpose he chose a strong, authoritative tone. “Do I pay you to appear late?”

The man halted for a moment, and Rin marched toward him with confidence, or what hopefully looked like it. 

“Now,” Rin called, and with one foot bare Nagi sprinted. 

Rin took his janbiya and dashed forward, as well.

The man in the turban caught Nagi’s veil. 

“Just run,” Rin called. 

“No,” Nagi said, swinging his arms, trying to hit the man with his slipper. Idiot!

Rin already reached them, preparing to hit and twist the man’s arm, but Nagi was not distraction enough for that. The kaskara came seeking Rin’s flesh. 

Rin spun and jumped away, but the sword grazed the side of his ribs. 

Better the ribs than the stomach. 

This was different than his trainings. Rin tried to calm his breathing to no avail.

With the corner of an eye, he noticed Nagi was holding not a splinter, but a thin blade, disguised as a small twig. He must have pricked the attacker with it. 

Rin had time for only one additional thought; ‘Hope it’s poisoned. But not lethal.’

The mercenary moved toward him, and Rin mowed away. Step by step. He kept his focus on the man’s stance, on whichever intent his eyes would reveal. 

The man twirled Nagi’s gemmed veil. The ornament was heavy enough to deal considerable damage, and the mercenary spun it as one would a rock inside a net. He might hurl it, or the gem might tear off, flying into an unexpected direction. Which would it be? 

“Wait,” Nagi said, yanking at the leather sheath on the assailer’s back.

The man swished the gemmed veil backwards, almost hitting Nagi’s head. Nagi bounced back.

The mercenary threw the veil at Rin’s face. Rin dodged, realizing only then that the man still had the veil with the gem in his hand. He dodged again. Nagi’s headgear landed on the sand with a soft clang. Had it broken?

“Why’d you do that?” Nagi screamed. Like a madman he jumped on the attacker, pulling his ears and tearing his hair. “Who gave you the permission to do that, who?” Again and again he stabbed the man’s neck and shoulders with his needle. 

The man squatted, jerking his shoulders and pulling Nagi over his head. Nagi crashed against the street sand and moaned in pain.  
Before the man in the turban drew his back up again, Rin managed to wrench the kaskara away and to fling it out of reach. Then he kicked the man in the shin, struck him across his back, above his nape with the hilt of his dagger, kicked his feet again until the man fell head first in the sand. 

The mercenary might prove more useful disabled than dead.

Nagi was pulling himself up. No need to help him, then. 

Upon attempting to turn the hireling, Rin got a fist into his cheek. For a moment he thought some of his bones had broken. His eyes watered, his nose burned. Striking the Prince on the face. The pain inflamed Rin’s ire, and he threw his dagger and punched the man in the face till his knuckles hurt. 

The man fought back. He tried to throw Rin off, and rise. 

Finally Rin pressed into the mercenary’s throat with his forearm. Then he rose slightly, clasped his hands around the assailer’s clothed neck and squeezed as much as he could. 

The man’s face, as much as it was visible, soon turned a shade of furious red. He was blinking and groaning, swinging his arms and legs around. 

Nagi caught the man’s right hand and kneeled on it, kept it down with his weight. 

The mercenary’s resistance became feebler with each passing moment, his gaze became vague, unfocused. His eyes, red and moist from strain, gained a glassy quality.

His left hand fell. His body lay unmoving. 

“Leave it, Little Rin,” Nagi said. 

Rin could not, his hands kept pressing into the mercenary’s dirty shawl, as if everything, everything from his life to Sarimah depended on it. 

“Leave it,” Nagi yelled. 

The slap came as a surprise. “Let’s go, now, before someone comes.”

Rin let Nagi pull him up.  
Without him Nagi jumped past the body. “It’s not broken, at least,” he whispered as he picked his gemmed veil. 

Rin was standing, feeling as a ghost in the middle of a bright day, and the mercenary’s empty, half-closed eyes were looking up into the orange walls of the street. Rin didn’t feel even enough strength to uncover the man’s face, or to check his pulse. He thought the street was moving. The sand was moving…

“The poison worked, he should be unconscious for a while, if he lives.” Nagi reached inside the folds of the mercenary’s folds, searching signs of his heartbeat. At the sound of a shutter from some window above he stood. 

“Never mind. Let’s go.” Nagi put the veil, now crumpled and torn, back on his head. His tiny blade he covered again and fixed inside his slipper, and the slipper he put back on his foot. 

Rin glimpsed back, but Nagi kept pulling him and pressing forward. The man was…and the kaskara, they should…

“My dagger,” he said. 

“Yes, I have it,” Nagi said, shoving Rin’s janbiya back into its sheath at Rin’s waist, as if helping a child to dress.

Was the man dead or simply unconscious? 

“Quick, come now, don’t be stupid,” Little Nagi said. He tugged at Rin’s wrist.

They both ran. 

A city guard barred their way. “What happened here?” He must have heard the commotion. 

Rin pulled his cover higher over his face and gripped his dagger beneath his jubba. Would the guard recognize the Prince? Whose side was he on? 

“Yes, yes, I’ve been searching for you,” said Little Nagi. “A thief took one of my bracelets, look.” He pushed his wrist under the nose of the city guard. “See? I thought he would steal every jewel I have. And he took my friend’s coin purse. Please, catch him, please. He ran that way.” Nagi pointed to another alley, not the one where the attacker lay. “Quickly, before he runs away!”

“Do you think I can run after every chicken thief in the city?” said the guard. 

“It was not a chicken, it was a golden bracelet he stole,” Nagi said. “Do you even know the worth of gold? I’m sure you’d like to. You’ll get a reward if you bring the goods back to us.”

The guard narrowed his eyes, spit on the ground, and walked slowly into the alley that Nagi had indicated. 

‘What a fine kingdom,’ thought Rin, biting his lips, ‘such a fine kingdom I rule.’

In the same instant Nagi dragged Rin across the alley, and they ran. They turned into another street, then another, and another again. 

At last they stopped. 

“We should be safe here,” Nagi said.

Rin leaned against the walls in a back alley, trying to regain his breath. Then he dusted his clothes and looked around to see if he could recognize the location. 

Nagi slapped Rin across the back. “You did well, little Rin. You did well.”

How so?  
“I might have killed that man,” Rin said. “I think I killed him.” 

His hands were shaking. He didn’t really care about the attacker, whether he lived or not, but his body apparently did. 

‘Why is my body scared and shocked when I am not?’ he thought. His mind was slow, but not scared. His legs swayed. ‘I’m not scared.’ 

If the man had survived, and they had captured him, he might have been useful to get more information, though a lowlife like that would probably not have seen his contractor up close. Yet even if he’d reveal only the middle man, that should be a start to reach for the next link in the chain.  
Rin squatted; his legs refused to walk properly anyway. The distant noises of the city had not ceased. A group of children carelessly ran past them, calling to each other. Above the yellow and white houses, the sky was still azure and uncaringly serene.

Rin closed his eyes. For a second, in front of him appeared their attacker, lying on the ground with glossy eyes, but pouring blood from wounds as that Rat had done a long time ago. Dying. Because Rin had stabbed him. In the same manner the man wheezed and wailed. Then Rin realized it was his own breathing that sounded so, as if someone were wrenching each whiff out of his lungs with a fist. His every limb shook. 

Nagi sat next to him. “Yes, maybe you did, little Rin, but we survived, and isn’t that more important? I’d rather have a thousand of them die than one of us. Too bad we had to leave, because we could have interrogated him otherwise, right? But it was too dangerous to stay, right?” 

His eyes were big, his smile wide as if nothing out of ordinary had happened, and Rin felt a shiver go down his back.  
What kind of man was Nagi?

Rin sat down as well. Were all the Marids used to live with horrors? Was that the legacy of father’s wars? Rin had spent the last days as though everything had been in order, as if he had been free to be at leisure, free to be hopeful and even happy. Free to pine after Haru. Fool. 

He rubbed his forehead. 

Were the others all right? Gohar and Haru and everyone else?

“I think I know where we are,” Little Nagi said. “No, I’m certain of it. Your face is a bit red from the hits, and I’m sure that will disappear soon.”

Rin could find nothing to say in return. His nose and cheek were still stinging. 

Nagi nudged Rin in the ribs. “Tell me a story, Little Rin.”

“Huh?”

“A story,” Nagi said. “You know what a story is, right?”

What? Rin narrowed his eyes, unable to find a reply. His heartbeat and the violent trepidation of his hands and torso commanded all his attention, offering him visions of blood and guilt and fear. 

“Fine.” Nagi sighed. “Then let me talk first. You know what little Rayn said? That I squashed something priceless.”

“What?” Rin said. What was wrong with this kid?

“And you know what I told him?” said Nagi, pulled his headgear down, and twirled the torn veil in his hands. “I told Rayn that if it was priceless, he couldn’t sell it anyway. You can’t sell something that has no price, right?”

“What are you babbling about?” said Rin. Was Nagi trying to distract him? Was he just out of his mind?

Nagi put the veil back on his head. “It was some ugly, pale butterfly, no, it was a moth. An ugly moth. I accidentally stepped on it, and little Rayn got really angry at me. He said the moth was beautiful and rare, and that he went to extreme troubles to get it.”

“And?” said Rin, his patience sorely tested.

“But it was just a moth,” Nagi yelled. “And I only stepped on one of two. Which means he still has one ugly moth remaining. He said they would make clothes, but not anymore, because I killed one. How can a moth make silk? It can’t, I’m not that stupid. And I didn’t do it on purpose. But little Rayn kept talking about priceless moths and threads and hollow sticks and merchants…and I’ve never seen him so angry. He has never yelled at me like that before, he hasn’t.” Little Nagi sank his head and embraced his own knees with his arms. He looked like a tiny child. “He is still angry at me. But I didn’t do anything wrong, right? I even apologized. It was just a moth.” He hid his face with his hands and laughed. His words came out as a quick, breathless prattle. “You know, I thought if I died there, or if little Rayn died, while he is still angry at me…or if any of us died…I…I don’t want that, little Rin.” Nagi wiped around his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to see others die anymore. I won’t let it.” 

He hugged Rin’s arm and hid his face behind Rin’s shoulder. “I told to myself that as long as we’re alive, the rest doesn’t matter. I should be happy I’m alive. I should be merry. Surviving is all the more reason to think only of the things we love, right? But I can’t do it. I’m afraid, little Rin. I’m angry. Why can’t we just live? I’m tired of deaths.” His shoulders were trembling. “If we were birds, any birds, we could just fly over the roofs to Haru and the others.” He clung to Rin’s arm. “We don’t have to fight anymore, right? You’ll make it so when you’ll be sultan.”He tore away from Rin. “Promise me that. You must promise.” Again Nagi grabbed Rin’s arm. “Promise.”

“Y…yes,” said Rin. What else could he say? “I promise.”

“Now you tell me a story,” said Little Nagi. “Tell me a story about birds.”

“Now?” said Rin. He couldn’t find a reason to shake the brat off. Not a brat, Nagi was not a brat. 

“Yes.” Nagi nodded, and his brow brushed Rin’s shoulder. “Just a short story, then we’ll go find the others.” 

A story of birds… Rin remembered tales of birds large enough for a man to ride, of violent rocs, of birds of gold and fire, of a sorceress queen and the jealousy that spellbound her lover into a black bird. Most of all Rin remembered a little black bird of his own, one that would make no interesting tale at all. 

“As you know,” said Rin, “not all types of birds can fly.” It was dumb. It was dumb, but Rin kept talking anyway. “There was that traveler once who paid visit to the Sultan of Alamas. He said that if one walked south and south again, across all deserts, he would arrive to another shore. On that shore, there live birds in flocks. They are too big and too fat to fly, so they swim in the water and eat fish like dolphins and do nothing else all day. Thus went the traveler’s tale.”

Nagi burst into titters. “I think this is my new favorite tale, little Rin. Fat birds that swim like fish and laze around; I like that.” 

“It’s not something I came up with,” said Rin. “I merely heard the story and retold it to you.”

Nagi plucked at Rin’s sleeve. “I still like that, little Rin, the fat birds and all. Now let’s go.”

“Ah, yes,” said Rin. He got up. His body responded to his bidding with nary a hesitation. His legs supported him. 

“Are you feeling better, little Rin?” Nagi stepped on his toes and looked at Rin’s face up close. His eyes were watery and his nose slightly red. “You’re finally not shaking anymore,” he said. “You got me really worried there.” He grabbed Rin’s arm and swung it wildly. “Now let’s go. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Rin followed, unable to tell if Nagi had been in fact trying to comfort Rin, or if Little Nagi had been in serious need of comfort himself. Both, perhaps? Likewise Rin could not tell if Nagi was a silly, childish person or someone too wise, even cunning. Yet if Little Nagi was indeed this cunning, then he was also kind. 

‘Unlike me,’ thought Rin. 

 

They met with the others at the exact spot Nagi had led Rin.  
They all waited in front of a square full of people, on the yellow tiles around an empty fountain. The sun was a single red eye on the horizon, readying to close, and the bazaar was becoming livelier. The heat was about to relent.

Did they think they were safe in a crowded place?  
Rin shook his head, thinking that a difference between an empty place and a crowded one was not worth mentioning. A crowded place was slightly more likely to leave witnesses, but crime could be committed in both. 

“Rin.” Gohar came to embrace him. Her quiver was almost empty. 

“Are you all right?” said Rin, and Gohar nodded. “You?”

“What happened?” said Nagi.

Rayn was still holding onto his bag of water samples and notes.

“It was good we’ve set a meeting point in a case like this,” said Makeen.  
He was sitting, while Haru was bending over him like a healer over an ailing person, or like a saint. Makeen’s clothes were dirtied, as though he had been trashing through the sand.

“You two?” said Haru, still carefully keeping his palms above Makeen’s arm. He was a shaman after all. 

“Yes, we’re fine,” said Little Nagi. “We ran like crazy. Little Rin is surprisingly fast. Right?” He directed his grinning face at Rin. 

Would he not tell more, the truth about what Rin had done? Would he truly be so kind?

Nagi already ran to Haru and Makeen. “What happened to little Maki?” 

He would keep it to himself, Little Nagi would. 

“Not the legs,” Rin whispered. He shook his head to Gohar’s inquires. If Haru was the heart of the Marids, Makeen the head, and Rayn the arms, then Nagi was the backbone. 

 

“I am fine, it’s nothing worth mentioning,” said Makeen, smiling. His short sleeve had been slashed, its green fabric bloody. He rolled the sleeve up. “See?” His skin was covered in blood, but it appeared intact. “I’m simply not so good at this thing with battles and stabbing.”

“It’s because of me,” Rayn said. He was looking down at his feet, moving the dirt on the street with the soles of his shoes. “He tried to protect me and the work we’ve done today. I should have taken my musket. It’s my fault.” 

“That’s not the matter now, little Rayn,” said Nagi and walked sideways to the scholar. He took Rayn’s hand. “It’s important that we’re all safe. Right? You aren’t angry anymore, are you?”

Rayn adjusted the position of his spectacles with his free hand. “Angry… Do you speak about the silkworms?”

“Worms? No.” Nagi shook his head. “I speak about the moths.”

Rayn let out a sigh. “It’s the same thing. But I suppose I’m not angry anymore. And I need to ask your pardon. Since we’re all safe...that’s what matters.”

Safe, nobody was safe until Rin would have somehow set things right and seized the throne, and perhaps they would not be safe even then.

“My pardon?” said Nagi. 

Rayn nodded. “My memory shall not need the reminder of danger again. Like an idiot I forgot what is important and what is not. I shall never forget again the kindness you showed me years ago. Without you, I would not be here with the Marids, and mayhap I would not even be alive. I’m grateful to you, to you all. Other riches can’t compare to your friendship.”

“Now, now, we are all glad to have you,” Little Nagi said, spreading his lips in a smile. “And of course my friendship is worth more than moths.”

“And all the silk. Speaking of silk, what happened to your veil?” Rayn said.

“Oh?” said Nagi, making a surprised face. “You’re right. What happened to it? It must have torn while we ran. Such a pity. I’ll mend it, put some ribbons on it, and it will be like new again.”

Little Nagi winked to Rin, as if the two were sharing some sort of secret. 

“The one who attacked you, what is of him?” Rin said. “And the man who forewarned us? Any news of him?” Rin didn’t bother searching in the crowd, for it would be pointless.

It would not please him to hear of the Rat’s death, and contacting Amameera had just become more challenging, so he might not learn of the Rat’s fate in a long time. 

Rayn shook his head. “We ran away, and we haven’t seen him since. As for the guards, I have my doubts about their authenticity. There were some suspicious men on the streets, yet we’ve managed to avoid their eyes. They are connected with those guards, I believe; they are both working under common orders. Either they are trained sellswords or paid brigands. Yet there was nothing in particular that would reveal their identity, and for whom they worked.” 

Exactly. Like Rin, Rayn had also come to the conclusion that the attackers were not simple criminals. They had known what they were doing, but they were not well organized. Sadly, their clothing had not revealed their origin. The kaskara had not appeared out of ordinary either, but if Rin had taken it, he might learn more from it now. He would not go to retrieve it now, however.

As for the guards and how they fit into this ambush, Rin would need to interrogate Seyjur first. Doubtfully Seyjur would use that kind of method to reach his goals, yet if his subordinates acted unbeknownst to him, that was worrisome. 

Killing the Prince might have been priority, but they had gone after the Marids as well, so who could tell their true goal?  
Rin scanned the possible noble faces in his mind.  
Which idiot would want to get rid of the Marid people together with his enemy? Who?  
Either someone who wanted to see Sarimah in ruins or someone who didn’t believe in water magic. 

Perhaps the mercenaries just hadn’t been following orders when they had attacked Rayn and Makeen. They hadn’t seemed formally trained, so it was possible they lacked discipline and rational thought. Who would employ this kind of attackers, then? Unless Rin figured it out, not he and not the Marids were safe. 

Amameera likely didn’t know either, for she had thought there was no immediate danger. She wouldn’t betray Rin, probably. Certainly. She had even left a Rat to follow Rin and assure his safety. 

He sighed. “We should return to the palace, as it will be easier to protect you there.” At least he hoped so, yet he knew full well that many a king had died in his bed, or in his garden, or drinking his favorite wine. “We’ll take a longer route, where the brigands should not be waiting. From now on, if there is anything Rayn will need for his research outside the palace walls, or any of the Marids will need to leave the palace at all, an escort will follow you everywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you reading and sorry for any mistakes. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure I wanted to write something else under here, but I can't remember what anymore.


	11. Where Sunlight Gathers, and Spirits Cry

In Gohar’s presence Rin waited. “He’ll take a while, you’ll see. He likes to tarry.”

“Just keep calm, brother,” Gohar whispered, tapping the back of his hand once. Her veil did not obstruct her face, and that might play favorably for Rin, as well. Her chirca with pale floral and red colors made her appear younger and more mature at the same time. 

They sat, Rin on his gold and velvet chair, and Gohar on a chair in Eastern style, with rich intarsia on its red back. 

With the light pouring in from the windows, the polished tiles on the floor blazed as the sun itself. The traditional water clock was indicating only forenoon, yet the air was already weighing on Rin with its temperature. The Chamber of Water, as Rin sometimes liked to call it, was dry.

In here, inside this chamber, Rin had caught sight of Haru’s eyes for the first time after years, and for this reason he hoped it would bring him luck again. Here Haru had been kneeling, here he had kissed the tips of Rin’s fingers.

While Rin hadn’t had enough sleep, his every fiber urged him to move and act, keeping him in a state of uneasy readiness. Of his dreams he remembered only a little, and for that he was grateful, as his night illusions had been merely nightmares of his frantic running, and of someone, perhaps himself, dying on the streets. 

The scent of air outside and of sunshine nudged at his nostrils. 

“You’ve called upon me,” Seyjur said, crossing his arms at the entrance. He came without his headgear, as it was his habit after training. Sweat frosted his arms and chest. 

He noticed Gohar then and bowed. His face reddened in embarrassment. “Princess. I apologize. I’m not in presentable attire.”

Gohar inclined her head forward. “I pay no heed to that, nor do I mind. We have far bigger worries here.”

Seyjur’s countenance softened immediately. It was easy to detect that he saw Gohar as more than his niece. Though he had never said anything too obvious or direct, no one would mistake his affections for something else, except perhaps Seyjur himself. 

“Have you received the news, Sejyur Mushir?” Rin said. 

Seyjur lifted one eyebrow. “What news?”

“Someone,” Rin began, “no, an entire group of your men is burdened with the act of insurgency. Treason of the highest degree. Attempts have been made after my life and the life of my dear sister. What do you say to that?”

Seyjur glanced in confusion from Rin to Gohar and back. “My Prince, my Princess, who?” he said. “Who would dare? Is my Princess…Are my Prince and Princess well?”

His surprise appeared genuine.  
Was Seyjur truly not connected, then? Was Rin only too eager to believe so?

“We are fine, thank you for your concern, uncle,” Gohar said.

“As for whom,” Rin continued, “I was hoping you could tell me. The city guards are under your direct command and authority.” He motioned to the new servant to pass the documents to Seyjur. “I’ve written a few points about the assailers and the manner of the attack.”

The servant fidgeted.  
Since the Divan and other engagements occupied Nizamat, he could not serve Rin as before. It was an oddity for Rin to be waited upon by someone else, odd as if one might look at his feet at midday and notice that he had no shadow.

“August Prince,” said the servant. His next words Rin couldn’t understand. 

“Speak louder,” said Rin, and the young servant breathed in deeply.

“I think I forgot them in Meerza’s study,” the servant said. “Forgiveness, forgiveness.”

Rin felt a twitch under his eyes. “Those are important papers, you cannot leave them unattended for someone to find.”

There were no important secrets in them, but careless handling of the Prince’s documents should not be tolerated. 

“Yes,” said the servant, bowing his head and rubbing nervously the palms of his hands against his white robe.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Rin raised his voice. “If this happens again, I’ll accuse you of espionage.”

“Of espi…” The servant paled. “My Prince, I don’t read well enough to spy on such heavy writings. I don’t even like reading official papers that much. No offense to Meerza, but I don’t understand why Meerza doesn’t do more interesting things than those boring papers. A Prince could…” he bowed, probably noticing Rin’s displeased expression. “Forgiveness, forgiveness.”

“Prattle less and work more,” said Rin. 

The new servant was even more obtrusive than Nizamat, but less helpful. Neither did he possess Nizamat’s earnestness or the adoring eye. Despite that, his irises had a similar shade as Nizamat’s and Haru’s, the reflection of sky and water, and there was a shallow familiarity in that.  
Until the boy would have learned proper manners, Rin wouldn’t even try to remember his name.  
As the first son of some forgotten low noble, the servant was not educated enough, yet he seemed prone enough to honesty and loyalty. That’s why Rin had taken him in. His speech and mindset were closer to the common people of Alamas, and because of that the boy oft forgot or misinterpreted Rin’s orders. At times it seemed to Rin the new kid didn’t know even how to stand properly. Each time he applied kohl to Rin’s eyelids, the servant’s hands were so unsteady that Rin feared he’d lose an eye.  
Hopefully this lack of proper upbringing also meant the servant was too stupid and clumsy to be a spy, as well. Besides, his family had received enough fortune to be spared from temptation.

“I refuse to believe that any of my men would go behind my back and threaten the Prince or the Princess,” Seyjur said.

The servant soon huffed back into the chamber. “Here, my august Meerza, and my august Basha.” He gave the papers to Seyjur. 

Seyjur scanned them quickly, his gaze shooting alongside the written lines. “This suspicious man who appeared, Rinaz, could he not be the target of the guards’ actions?” he said. “Don’t you think that’s more likely than my guards assaulting you?” 

“That man saved our lives,” said Gohar. “I do not know if I would be here in flesh if he hadn’t appeared. Close around the area where the guards appeared, brigands lay in wait. It is no small matter.” 

“I see.” Seyjur nodded. Just like that he accepted her words, where he would not have Rin’s. “I will interrogate all the district officers,” Seyjur said, “and carry the interrogations from there down to simple soldiers.”

That would not be enough. 

“Your brothers,” said Rin. “My uncles, did they not ask you to participate in their schemes? You mean to convince me of your ignorance of their designs?” 

Seyjur tilted his head back slightly, measuring Rin with narrowed eyes and lips closed tightly. “Are you insinuating me or my brothers would dirty our hands with the blood of our family? Is that how you see me? My brothers, just like me, follow higher creeds than killing their kin on streets. It is true that my brothers crave power, but they would not stoop so low. We are on the same side.”

He seemed convinced of that, but he had also been avoiding the Divan’s meetings, preferring action over words. Mayhap Seyjur thought also that father's death had not been planned, but had been an action of divine intervention, fate. 

“On the same side we are,” said Rin, “but you would not relinquish even part of the army and transfer it under my control. Do you know Haman and Jaleel have met?” 

“What of it? What is so strange if they met?” Seyjur shrugged his shoulders. “Your fears make you construe the wildest designs out of nothing.”

“Is my life nothing? Is Gohar’s?” Rin yelled. 

Seyjur twitched and glimpsed at Gohar. He said, “Rinaz, you hold a higher position than me, but you should learn to address your elders with more humility.” 

He refused to see. Seyjur refused to see. While he saw himself as leader, Seyjur didn’t even know the players on ‘our side,’ and yet he expected Rin to do better than him. As the Divan and Haru, Seyjur was testing the Prince, but he hadn’t even bothered explaining what the test consisted of, precisely. Instead he had pulled away support at a crucial moment, without consulting Rin first. 

Rin jumped up. “How do I protect Gohar and the Marids if your soldiers attack them?” 

“My soldiers didn’t…” Seyjur began. 

“Now, brother. Now, uncle,” said Gohar, getting up, as well. “If you scream so you will frighten me. Let us think instead of the task ahead. Sarimah has a problem we all share. If the Crown Prince is in danger, then so is his land. Is that not right, Seyjur Basha?”

“Y-yes,” said Seyjur. 

“I have never questioned uncle Seyjur’s loyalty, not even in my dreams,” Gohar said, walking slowly toward Seyjur. “That is why I must, despite the knowledge that I burden you, ask you for help. Brother and I have in truth nobody else to turn to. You are our first and only hope.” She bowed in front of him. “Please,” she whispered.

“I,” said Seyjur, scratching his red hair. “As my Princess commands,” he then said and returned the bow. 

How did Gohar know the right words to say? Why Rin still didn’t? Instead of learning more of the attack and forging allies, he had nearly begun an argument. 

“Will you really aid us?” Gohar said, smiling with the beauty of a calm, long awaited sunset after the heat of the day. “I would have you and your men follow me and protect me and the Marids in Alamas. We are close to restoring the aqueduct and our oasis. Would that not be the salve Alamas needs? I’m convinced that with your presence, we won’t need to worry for the safety of our lives. With you by our side I will feel safer, too.” 

Rin wanted to say that she should remain in the palace, for that would still be safer, but it dawned on him that Gohar had not only gained Seyjur’s compliance, but also efficiently closed the Prince’s mouth. Rin couldn’t ask her not to accompany the Marids without possibly shaking Seyjur’s resolution. Well, she had won. Rin would have to pay more attention to her while outside the palace walls.  
Yet was she doing this on purpose, consciously, or did it come to her naturally as a woman? Whichever the truth, Rin was glad that Gohar was working for and with him, rather than against him. 

If she would ever decide to marry out of convenience for the realm, she would probably find a better match than Rin or the Divan could find for her. 

Gohar returned to her chair and sat down. “Is there anything else brother would like to ask of Seyjur Basha?”

“Only that he guard my sister, the Sha’ir, and the Marids with his life,” Rin said. On purpose he left out his name, expecting Seyjur to react well to ‘humility.’ “I ask you to keep Sarimah safe.”  
As Gohar had already told Seyjur that Sarimah depended on Rin’s life, that should be enough. Or maybe for Seyjur’s simple mind that wouldn’t be enough. No matter. 

After Seyjur left, Rin asked Gohar to return to her chambers ahead of him. He tarried on the corridors until a female servant passed him by and unnoticeably traded with him a message. 

The content of the message described the encounter of Vizier Jaleel and one of father’s concubines. Rin compared that to the recent information he had gained from Amameera, but it seemed to him that he was missing too many clues to solve this riddle yet. Perhaps Nizamat would be able to place on the table the missing pieces. Rin still needed to read some of his reports. 

 

“I’ve been looking for you, little Rin,” Nagi walked toward Rin in his dancing gait, and his veil was indeed laced with ribbons as he had said he’d do. What was so important about a veil that he should cherish it to this point?

“Rayn needs another sample from the city aqueduct. He wants a piece of...I don’t actually know what,” Nagi said, following Rin to his bedchamber. “He has a whole list of demands, actually. I don’t remember half of them.” 

“Little Rin, little Rin.” Nagi showed a tiny block of wood, which was fretted coarsely in the shape of a bird. It featured a giant head and a small beak, and its body stood upright as a human.

“Look,” said Nagi, dangling the fretwork on a string.

“What is this?” Rin said. “A siren as Northerners portray them? Or a water spirit with wings?” 

“No.” Nagi pouted. “Don’t you see? It’s a fat bird, like the ones in the story you’ve told. This one is special because it’s Marid-made.” 

Rin pulled his face in a grimace. “I hope not all Marid art is like this.”

“Why? Little Haru made this one.” For a bare moment Nagi’s expression became contemplating, piercing like a throw of a dagger. For a moment only, and then his eyes opened wide again. Rin might think he had imagined it, but he knew better than that. “Don’t you like it?” said Nagi.

“Haru…did?” Rin took the ugly bird into his hands. “How much do you want for it?”  
He didn’t want this ugly ornament, not exactly, but he didn’t want anyone else to have it either. 

Nagi smiled. “No, no, it’s not for sale, little Rin.” 

So they all said.  
Rin unclasped one of his golden earrings. “Here, this should be enough.”

“I meant to give it to you as a token of friendship, little Rin, but I gladly accept something from you in return.” Nagi bowed and pranced around the chamber with the golden earring in his palm. 

“Tsk,” said Rin. He had been fooled.

 

“My Prince,” a familiar voice called from outside the room. Nizamat. Rin had never thought he might miss Nizamat’s voice and countenance. 

“You may enter,” Rin said.

Nizamat burst in with water in his eyes. “Forgive me, my Prince, forgive me. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He bent his knees and threw himself on the ground. “I’m sorry.”

Rin sent the new servant out. 

“Oh,” said Nagi. 

“You too.” Rin motioned toward the exit with his hands. “Go to Gohar about Rayn’s requests.” 

“I can wait a bit more,” Little Nagi said. “I’m not in a hurry.”

Rin folded his arms. “But I am. Go.”

“Not fair, Little Rin,” Nagi said. “I even gave you that bird as a token of our friendship.”

“And I paid for it in gold. Now go to Gohar, because I have more urgent affairs of the realm to tend to.” If Nagi wouldn’t listen, Rin would throw him out himself. If the matter concerned the Divan, he wanted to hear it first, without an additional pair of ears. 

“Fine.” Nagi moved hesitantly to the door. 

“Go already,” Rin said, and Nagi closed the door. 

Nizamat was still kneeling and sniveling. “I did everything I could, but I failed, I…” 

Rin threw the carving onto his bed, after which he pulled the servant up. “Calm down and speak properly.”

“The delegates,” said Nizamat, “the delegates of the Western Cities…the Vizier has met them, I think, or some other councilors, I didn’t catch it well. And I’ve tried to send a messenger to one of the delegates, but he wouldn’t be received…and...I think they plan to rule without Meerza, and if they secure an agreement with the Western Cities, then…It’s all my fault that this has happened.” 

“I see,” said Rin.

While he had been busying himself with the question of who had sent the mercenaries after him and the Marids, the Divan had taken the chance. Already the councilors were a step ahead. That, Rin realized, might have been the plan all along. It was to be expected. There would always be someone stronger, faster, with more wits and allies. 

He should inquire where and why his net of spies had failed. Later. Now it was time to solve this mess. 

Doubtless this was a plan to occupy and distract Rin with the investigation about the attackers, while the councilors forged other pacts without his knowledge. Probably they intended to cast a shadow of doubt upon Seyjur’s person and work, or to create a rift between him and Rin. They had almost succeeded at the latter. 

If Nizamat hadn’t arrived with the news, Rin would spend more precious days hereon researching the attack. Now he could take a better route. 

It was clear that Rin had to meet the delegates himself, but…No, that would not be enough. If the royal uncles and the delegates had stricken an accord, meeting them would be fruitless unless Rin had something better to offer.  
He needed to convince the delegates, and through them their kings and queens, that Rin was the one with power to negotiate. Something to inspire awe. Power. Leverage to set his terms.  
Rayn’s experiments would take too long to yield any kind of stupefying results, yet the Marids were the key. 

There was only one solution. 

In front of him, Nizamat was still crying as if Rin had threatened him with the death sentence. Was he afraid of that? Or did he pity the Prince?

“I’ve failed you,” wailed Nizamat.

“Be kind enough and leave the weeping for later,” Rin said. “Worry not about the councilors, nor the delegates. Join the Marids for today, and make sure they return to the palace before nightfall.”

“Does my Prince know how to solve this?” Nizamat said, already rubbing his eyes and opening them in awe. If only the delegates were so easy to impress. 

“Yes,” Rin said.  
Perhaps.

“Meerza is wise,” said Nizamat.

Rin smiled. No, Meerza was likely to do something stupid, but it was the only thing to do. 

 

Rin called his guards and his new servant. 

“What are you doing here?” he said to Nagi at the corridor. 

Nagi giggled. “I was only passing by, or waiting a little. Where are you going? Can I come with you?”

For an instant Rin was of the mind to say yes, but it would be troublesome if Nagi went with him. 

“Thank you for that ugly bird. Next time I can buy a new veil if you want.” Rin said. “As for now, I have…a meeting with someone.”

“With little Ama? If you go to meet her, I can come with you,” Nagi offered. 

“I’m not going to meet her,” Rin said. “Now let me be. I have more work than chatting with you the entire day. You can have Nizamat for company. Now go bother Gohar.”

The guards escorted him to the father’s quarters and then unsealed the doors. 

He should have done so long time ago. Here waited all his father’s work, his findings, everything the library and the Marids hadn’t preserved. 

“Wait here,” Rin said to the new servant.

The servant turned blue. “Here? No, please, my august Prince. Please, I don’t want to. It’s haunted, it must not be done. They will attack Meerza. The ghosts will.” 

Rin narrowed his eyes, and the boy started blabbering without sense. “They say voices and sobs are heard at night. Every guard swears so. Then trails of blood appear at midnight, on the walls and on the floor, and there’s screeching, and ghosts walk with their skin torn and with limbs missing, and there is a girl who floats and drags her cut off legs in her hands. The legs are broken and twisted at weird angles, so it is said. And she laughs and scratches. The guards who fall asleep in the morning find themselves with strange bruises and scratches on their legs…” the boy’s voice withered into a frightful whisper “…right where the girl’s legs were cut off. One guard even died like that. So we mustn’t. Even by day the Cursed Halls…”

“Enough,” Rin said, loudly enough for the entire corridor to hear. “If I catch a single word of this again, you’ll serve not me but a sentence in the prisons. See if you like it better there.”

The servant hung his mouth open and promptly closed it. 

“Wait until I come back.” Rin walked inside. 

 

The chambers were still sun-kissed, and instead of spirits, memories lurked inside. The place where father had lifted Rin in the air, the place where father had taught him, the place where father had scolded him. Every little thing was as father had left it, yet also the passing of time had changed it. 

Instead of curtains, spiders had woven their webs up the corners. Dust veneered the floor and furniture, blanketed the cushions, sofas, and the bed. It coated the desks and chairs. It gathered in flakes at the nooks. 

The dry, hot air engulfed Rin, and he felt his skin shrivel and prickle under its bare, bony touch.

The cruel sun, the vacancy of life, as a foretaste of death…and Rin needed to lean on the walls for support.

An unknown voice whispered softly to his ear, ‘You can try, but you can't succeed. What you showed is not good enough. What else do you have to offer?’

He thought of father’s mausoleum, but there the black marble was hiding only a lifeless corpse; if anywhere, father’s spirit was alive here, where father had lived and left his thoughts on paper. 

Although Rin had been avoiding this very spirit, and though he had promised himself never to step in these rooms again, now he saw with stark clarity. He was made of his past, every part of his body, of those who had come before him and shaped him and his world. He could never run away from what he was. No man was free of his past, whether he had molded it himself or not. Such was the truth; Rin’s best efforts were not good enough. Not good enough to challenge and remediate father’s memory, or to fulfill father’s dream.  
Rin could only pretend to be better than he was. Yet he still had to try, and if Haru stood by him, not all hope was lost. He had to finish this task, make it right. At all costs he had to make things right. Then he’d be free, unattached to Haru’s goodwill, or the favors of the Divan, or the threats of the Western Union. That way he’d be Haru’s equal at last. Free.

Rin began searching through father’s scrolls, fascicles, and similar notes. On the desk and on the shelves, beneath Rin’s hands an ocean of parchment and paper undulated wildly. A haze of dust stirred, and Rin felt as though swimming inside sand.

There waited a Marid talisman, one as Amameera had given to Haru, a leather tube on string.  
What was inside?  
It was sewn together without any visible opening. Could it be holding secrets known only to the Marid people? Secrets in regard to the siren’s flower, and water? If father had kept it unopened, this talisman might have been the last sacred thing he had not wished to touch and use. 

Rin took his dagger. He had to see for himself, even if this meant despoiling a keepsake, a token of Marid trust, a secret.

With great care he ran the blade over the stitches at one side. It took some time, but the top part opened as a lid, and out flew the contents. Out poured sand and more golden sand. Rin shook the tube, and verified the insides. The amulet was empty. He reached down and sieved the sand through his fingers. Grain by grain he looked, but there was nothing, naught but sand. The same common, worthless sand as one might find on any street and in any desert. 

Rin sat on the dusty floor by the bed. Too hopeful, he had been too hopeful. He covered his face and sobbed without tears, thinking how to make a dead man proud, thinking how and whom to ask forgiveness, and how to salvage his soul from this bright, arid abyss.  
What if there was no solution at all? If Haru would refuse to lend his powers again, or if he in truth wasn’t able to perform water magic, what then? What was Haru, and what was Rin? Which bond would connect them, then?

He lay down, watching the sand close to his face. Gently he blew into the sandy blotch on the rug. The air tasted of death.  
To stay here and lay like this… Wouldn't it be better if he turned into dust as well? Dust and sand. Wouldn’t it be easier?  
He was alone. Alone he was, forlorn. In the end nobody could save him from his fate. Not Ama, not Gohar, not Nizamat, no uncle and adviser in this world, not father’s spirit, and not Haru. No one could see his heart, and if they did, they would leave.  
Why did people live and die? What was the purpose? What was the purpose of trying hard only to receive sand in return? Father had tried his best, too, but he had opened wounds in Sarimah no man could close, a curse Rin could not undo. As a putrid hand the drought had spread its fingers from Alamas to other cities, and chasing wealth and happiness was equal to chasing the moon. Haru…

No, no. Rin closed his eyes and breathed in the musty air. At all costs he needed to make this right. If nothing else, Rin needed to amend for father’s mistakes, to make his dream into reality. Then things would finally be all right, wouldn’t they? Things would be fine, and Rin could be free. 

As a child, Rin had wanted to be like him, just like father, who had been warm and invincible as the sun in the sky.  
Now the sun burned. The sun was unkind. The sun was cruel. Hateful, cruel sun and cruel, hateful water jinn. 

Rin got up to his feet. He searched and rummaged again, heaping useful documents in one pile and others to the other side. The anatomic research he skipped entirely, for he had no stomach to leaf though it.  
Why did people die? Why did they live?  
It seemed to him that his breaths echoed. Close to him, someone was duplicating his breaths, inhaling and exhaling a short instant after Rin. His father? The dead Marids? His imagination? A chill traveled from Rin’s neck down his spine.  
Too many, there were too many of them. Too many documents and too many memories were suspiring warm air at the back of his neck. Too many fears. From time to time Rin turned around, yet nobody showed himself. No living person. Only half-formed spirits with their heat. The room was blinding, too bright. Too silent. His breaths grew louder, as did the echo. Rin’s head was becoming dizzy. His hands and legs moved only lazily, his muscles unresponsive as if slowed down by invisible weighting stones. 

Then he found it, the siren’s tale, written in father's hand. It was short, and thus it went:

It happened a long time ago, when the Marid tribe could still change into fish and dolphins at their will. Long long time ago, a daughter of water jinn lived with her people. She was blessed by the spirits, and the seawater listened to her every command. Thus she lived with her sisters and brothers, aiding everyone in need. She swam as a sea maiden to help the sailors and prayed in front of wells to bring the water forth. They said her smile could cure a man from sickness, and her tears could save a person from a certain death. Yet a many a merchant looked upon her fortune with envy. At last a group of traders, their hearts darkened with greed and resentment, kidnapped the girl and took her from the sea. Across the desert they took her, to the kingdom on the other side, for the king there was willing to pay large sums to possess such a maiden. Just hearing of her deeds and beauty, the king wished the water sorceress for himself, to put her on the throne as his new queen.  
Without the sea or other water, the Marid maiden held no power in the deserts. Thus she besought the water jinn day and night for any help. Mid-journey the traders began to quarrel among themselves, for one had heard that the Marid maiden’s heart brought immortality, but they would not agree upon the way it should be consumed. One thought the maiden’s love was enough, and another thought that only eating her flesh would make one imperishable, and thus the traders fought more fiercely by the day. The maiden heard their quarrels, and a great fear assailed her.  
Yet the spirits did not forsake her. The maiden cried, and where each of her tears fell, a rock rose opened. A garden of stone sprung up from the dunes. Astonished, the merchants began picking the desert roses, yet the thorns tore their skin, and the merchants bled on the sand and died one by one. The maiden still cried, and her tears created a bitter oasis. As bitter as it was, the Marid maiden could not drink it, and again she besought the jinn for help. The spirits took pity on her once more, and changed her body to rock, into a statue of a lioness, and they gave her wings to fly. From that day on, she flew the dunes. She posed riddles to every traveler she encountered to see if they were worthy of her Marid teachings. If the traveler answered her puzzle, she would give him a desert rose. A single rose was enough to provide one with luck and riches that lasted him his entire life. Yet if the traveler's answer held no truth, she would change him into rock.  
So she lives in the deserts to this day, and to this day the Marid people walk the sands to seek her blessings and spread them to those in need. 

 

"What is your riddle?” Rin said. 

A dark sense of foreboding clutched his heart, a dread of the living and the dead. 

Indeed the Marid maiden, the siren, the lioness, still lived, yet instead the sands she walked the city of Alams. She…he lived in the palace, clad in a guise of human flesh, and he riddled the Prince day by day. Now he would take Rin’s lips, now he would say, “I promised no such thing. It does not concern me.”

In the eve, when Rin would ask the Sha’ir, what would the answer be? 

After allowing himself to mistrust everyone and doubt everything, and to wallow in misery for some more time, Rin picked the documents he had collected. Rayn should find a use for them. 

 

“August Meerza?” said the servant. He had been sitting in front of the entrance to the Sultan’s chambers. “Are you still alive? I thought the spirits devoured you. Is it truly Meerza?” He felt the skin on Rin’s hand. “You are warm, so you can’t be a corpse. Are you possessed?” 

“Are you prattling?” said Rin.

“No, no,” said the servant. “I’m silent. I’ll be silent from now on.”

 

The taste of stale air and sand remained in Rin’s mouth and nose long after he had returned to his own quarters. The Marids had not returned yet. 

He paced around his bedchamber, and then from one chamber to the other. 

“Oh, no, Meerza is possessed,” the servant boy murmured, “I knew the spirits would possess him. What am I to do? What I am I to do?”

Rin glared at him, and the servant screeched. 

“I don’t want to die, please have mercy,” said the servant. 

“Then be off and don’t let me set my eyes on you again today,” Rin said. 

“Yes, yes, forgive me,” the servant said, retreated backwards while bowing, and began to run. 

Rin went to the Chamber of Water again, the place where he and Haru had met again, where it had all begun anew. 

The polished floor reflected the sunlight straight into Rin’s eyes. Everywhere he looked, bright, knifelike flashes were stinging him, and the heat scorched him with equal intensity as it had in father’s quarters. He breathed slowly, but the air felt scarce. 

“Draw the curtains,” he said. The servants obeyed. 

The kind, mild shadows descended upon the room, yet the air was still foul and stinking of desert sand. His skin was still permeated with dust, with thirst.

“Bring the incense,” Rin said, and the servant complied. 

The entire expanse of his body was an arid land, like Sarimah, and like Sarimah he was waterless and lost. 

‘What is your riddle?’ Rin thought. ‘What is my answer?’

“Water,” said Rin, “Bring water.” 

Servants came in with buckets full. Water splattered on the tiles as they walked. Splash, splash. 

Rin spread his hands. “Pour. Pour the water.”

And water, liquid diamonds, fount of life, came to his hands and face and chest. It came to cleanse his dirty, anxious soul, and to wash him free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)  
> I'm sorry for any remaining mistake.


	12. Let the Water Weigh Your Soul

Clad in a set of fresh clothes, Rin went to visit the Marids in their chamber. His hair was still heavy with water, yet the ghost of sand still persisted, and some unwashable dirty scent had been clinging to his body no matter how much water he had poured. 

“Do you have all the papers?” said Rin. Rayn would have to sort them and organize them again, for the servant had accidentally mixed some of them up. 

The servant boy twitched, almost dropping a scroll. “Yes, yes, august Meerza,” he said, “There’s a lot. I have everything. So august prince is not angry with me? And he is not possessed for certain?”

“I already told you I’m not,” said Rin, lifting his eyebrows. “But if I were possessed, do you think I would tell you?” He turned around. “Why are you stopping?”

“I,” said the servant, breathing in deeply. “Its… But you’re really not possessed, right?”

Rin huffed. “Aren’t you too old to believe this spirit nonsense? What are you still waiting for, let’s go.” He picked a few documents from the servant’s arms. 

The servant tilted his head to one side. “Doesn’t Meerza believe in the water jinn and the Sha’ir?”

“I suppose,” Rin said, “what of it?”

“But he doesn’t believe that those spirits could possess someone?” 

“It’s…” said Rin. “It’s different. Just carry those documents and walk. And stop talking about spirits and ghosts, or you’ll lose your post.”

Nizamat would never waste his time on such foolish thoughts, or at least not to that extent. 

The Marids were in their chambers. 

Rin heard Nagi’s laugh first.  
“It’s because you ran into the opposite direction, little Maki,” Nagi said.

“Brother,” said Gohar and got up from her seat. 

Nizamat must have left already. 

“Little Rin,” Nagi said as soon as he noticed the Prince, “how did the meeting go? What did little Ama say?”

The minuscule shift of Haru's body and the way he looked down filled Rin with agitation.

“I told you I was not going to see her,” Rin said. 

“Why, you can tell us the truth, little Rin,” said Nagi. “What were you doing?”

Rin was beginning to suspect that Nagi was behaving so on purpose, as a revenge for having been sent away in the afternoon. Childish nuisance. 

“Here,” Rin said, handing the papers to Rayn and motioning for the servant to do the same.

“What is this?” Rayn said. Instead of a scholarly robe, he was wearing his soldier uniform again. 

“Additional documents, research, and other scriptures about the qanat and the Marid skills,” said Rin. “You should find some use for them.”

Rayn began reading the first paper he took, and already his eyes were sparkling. “Where did you get this?”

“Other libraries,” said Rin. “A servant found them in some of the other libraries.” He shot a warning glance at the servant, who remained wisely silent. 

Rayn adjusted the position of his spectacles. “Look at this, it’s…” 

Nagi snatched Rayn’s spectacles and put them on his own nose. “Beautiful,” he said, emulating and exaggerating the scholar’s voice and expression. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” Rayn said. “It’s beautiful, now give me my glasses back.”

Apart from Gohar, everyone’s hair was also wet. Either they had collectively fallen into the qanat or they visited either the baths or the pool. Rin didn't want to ask.

He had come with the intent of asking something else. He turned to Haru. He narrowed his eyes. Was that…Yes, it was.

Haru wore a golden ornament on his ear, an earring precisely as the one Rin had bargained away this morning. A bond between the two of them when Rin had least expected it, like a mark of spirits’ will.

Apparently a man’s heart could be gladdened over such small, silly things, and over such same small, silly things it could despair. Over the same matters it would soar and fall, stupid, mischievous heart.

“Perform the water ritual for me,” Rin said. “In two days, do it for me.”

Haru brought one hand over his own heart.

“Little Rin,” said Nagi, “What’s the rush?”

Even if Rin tried to explain, the Marids didn’t know enough of the palace to understand the gravity of the current predicament. 

Rin waited for Haru’s reply, but it is was not forthcoming from those lips. Would Haru refuse?

“You must do it,” Rin said. “It’s time. I need you. Look around you. How can you not use your powers?”

“Brother,” whispered Gohar, yet Rin could not pay attention to her now. Thought Haru was not speaking, he was looking straight back at Rin. 

“No, it is premature,” Makeen said. “It would not be wise. Besides, never has a Sha’ir done so in public. The ceremony for crowds was always a formality, the true powers are left for the secrets, for the eyes of only a few trusted. Haruk Ah Bey would never…”

“I will do it,” said Haru. He took a step closer. 

“Haru, it’s not prudent” said Makeen. “Let us focus on repairing the waterworks, on restoring the oasis for now. Later we can think about the water ritual.”

Haru appeared not to listen, not to hear. His eyes followed Rin alone. As an element of nature, a desert wind perhaps, a storm, or clean water, or the flutter of black wings, as everything made one; as one pulling everything by his mere existence, so Haru’s gaze riveted Rin.  
Where Haru’s gaze touched Rin, in its wake it left broken splinters of desire and half-formed dreams. 

“I will do as you wish,” said Haru. “Yet the same goes for you, forget not what I will need from you. You need to pay tribute to the water jinn, the marids. Don’t waste more water. Don’t cause pain. Prepare your soul, for nothing less will do.”

Makeen sighed. 

“I’m prepared,” said Rin. He was more than willing to see the matter to the end. Afterwards he would set everything right, from the water, to the laws, and to his own habits. With the power of water magic, he could make amends. “The siren’s flower, will you use it?”

“It does not exist,” said Haru. 

“What?” Rin said.

“Just what you heard,” Haru said. “It is not a thing, not a person, nor a spell. A single person cannot hold it, not even me. My every power would not be enough.” He motioned at the other Marids. “It’s something between us.” Then his hand turned to point at Rin. His fingers were wrinkled by water. “Yet more than that, it is something between you and me. Not once I have performed the water ritual yet, not once have I opened the siren’s flower.”

“That cannot be,” Rin said. “The siren’s flower does not exist, yet it does? What is the water ritual, then? I don’t understand.”

Perhaps this made sense to Haru, who was one with water, who knew the mysteries of a Sha’ir, but to Rin it made no sense. It sounded as an illusion for the hopeful. Could Haru do the magic Sarimah needed? Amameera’s words of how a Sha’ir should be trained came to Rin’s mind. 

“If you seek the siren's flower in a physical form and not for what it truly is, then here you have it,” said Haru.

He motioned to Rayn, and Rayn brought forth a tiny pouch and opened it. Inside rested a rose rock as the desert formed them in their bosom. It was round, with tenderly curved petals and grained edges.

“This one is of barite,” Rayn said. From the furrows on his brow it was clear that he harbored similar doubts as Makeen. 

Was this the siren’s flower, this not uncommon piece of rock? 

“You riddle me,” said Rin, glancing at Haru. He suppressed the urge to take Haru in his arms and pry out every secret. 

‘As the siren of yore,’ he thought, ‘you riddle me to my damnation. Like a spirit you torment me with illusions. How am I to know what’s true?’ He desired to unclothe Haru and verify again, see with his own eyes and feel with his own fingers that Haru’s skin was warm, rosy flesh and not blue scales or lion fur. 

“So what do we do, what do we do?” Nagi poked Haru. 

“I will do what you ask of me,” Haru said, “I will do it, Prince of Sarimah.”

Shouldn’t that be enough? Enough for now, enough perhaps forever? Prosperity and water; would it be greed to demand more? Was this Haru speaking, or the Sha’ir?  
From Haru’s words and gaze, Rin felt the pull to both sides, hope and despair. 

‘And I,’ he thought, ‘am I the Prince or am I Rin? Are we lovers, friends, or strangers? Are we just grains of sand in time, pulled by higher powers?’

His being and his life were suspended between shadow and light, water and sand.

He bowed. “You have my thanks, and the thanks of entire Sarimah.”

In the next two days he did not have time to see Haru. Rayn helped him with the preparations, describing the specifics of what was needed for the ritual, the amount of water, its position, and how a Sha’ir needed to walk. Rin thus chose the Hall of Pearl and Ivory, as it was vast enough to hold a multitude of people. It was called at times as the Hall of Tears, but Rin decided he didn’t have the luxury of superstition and empty worries.  
At the center of the hall stood a large water basin in vivid blue plates and repeating floral mosaic, a fountain with jets. 

Rin sent his formal order to the Divan through Nizamat and a formal invite to the three envoys from the Western Cities. None would dare decline an official call. Ignoring it would be treated as treason in the case of scholars, or as breaking of negotiations and a call to war on the part of the delegates.  
At least that power Rin still had. The power of a formal summon. 

For safety he called upon Sejyur and Ghorozang, as well. The mere presence of the two should give all men with ill intents reason to hesitate and reconsider. 

As Rayn had explained, the ceremony should be held in the hours of early evening, shortly after sunset. 

 

This was the moment. Rin dressed his best, enwrapped himself in silk dark as the night and as golden as the sun. The new servant drew a thick line of kohl around Rin’s eyes.  
With his shiniest rings, his finest earrings, his richest bracelets and necklaces Rin adorned his body. At last the servant girdled him with the Imperial Sword, the talwar Haru had returned. 

“If I survive this eve,” Rin said, “tomorrow is a new day.” 

“Isn’t every day a new day?” said the boy. 

Gohar was also dressed in her ceremonial garments, dark blue kaftan with embroidered stars of gold, and a white tantour on her head. 

Before joining the other noblewomen, she squeezed Rin’s hand to reassure him. “Have heart, brother, and keep your calm. Everything will be all right.”

Rin nodded, for nothing else would come to him as answer. Mother didn't appear. That was a relief in a manner. 

The Sha’ir and the Marids would come in only as last. The servant censed the hall with myrrh, and the lamplight mixed with the light of setting sun, bronzing the ornate white walls with vivid colors. 

One by one or in small groups the scholars arrived, knelt in front of the Prince, and took their places. Nizamat sat with them this time, as he should as a learned man. The exchange with Seyjur and Ghorozang was brief, and Rin was too distracted to listen either way.

After that Rin spoke a few formal words with the envoys, two men and one woman. While anxious, he still noticed that the two male delegates treated the female with a reserved distance. It wasn’t too apparent, but something in their demeanor showed that they did not consider her to be in the same group as them.  
All three of them sat close to the Vizier. Of course Jaleel would display his chess pieces. He made a show of talking to each of them, and then he came to greet Rin again. 

“Rinaz Meerza,” said Jaleel, his smile too wide and unfriendly, “This was a bit sudden, I must say, and unexpected. Your councilors and envoys are taken aback by such an unprepared act.”

‘Taken aback? I should hope so,’ Rin thought, but said only, “I apologize if I’ve interrupted your routine, or some plans you might have had.”

“There is no such thing, Meerza.” Jaleel brushed his red beard. “Yet why rush before the time you have at your disposal has run out? A trial is not a small thing. The Sha’ir have not done their magic so publicly, have they?” 

Vizier Jaleel knew the cause for haste, and this game grated on Rin’s nerves. 

“I have faith in the Sha’ir,” Rin said. He held equal faith that the water ritual came at a most inopportune time for the Vizier. 

Uncle Jaleel bowed. “Too much hope is recklessness, but may your faith be well deserved. The Divan will be just in the judgment.”

Haru entered with the other Marids. Each of them wore a palace-made garment, a fine fabric strewn with pearls and gold. 

The crowd did not sit well with his Sha’ir nature, or so it seemed by the look on his face. He searched for Rin, and Rin nodded. 

‘Make it right,’ he thought. 

Instead of big introductory words, Rin would let Haru impress everyone with water magic. This one thing, this one thing was all he needed. If the water ritual would be successful, he would win.  
This one thing.

When the hall quieted, Haru removed his shawl and turban, and kneeled in front of the fountain. With elegant legerity he stepped inside the water. For a bit he waited, staring at the water. 

“The sun and moon in heaven be witness to my troth,” he said. “The spirits of the oceans bless this land. Marids, I beseech you. On the behest of Rinaz III Meerza I call upon you.”

His next sentences he spoke in a low voice, too low to comprehend. Perhaps they were Marid incantations in a magical tongue. A cold chill, a rush of anticipation traveled down Rin's back. The hall was silent, like Rin it was anxiously awaiting the magic, the return of water, the sight that only few privileged had seen in the history of the entire humanity. 

Haru took the sand rose from his sash and let it drop into the water. His whispers died away. Slowly he lowered and picked the desert rose again. He picked up two pieces.

Rin narrowed his eyes to see better. Yes, the rock rose was broken in two. How had it broken so easily? Was that supposed to happen? He gulped down. 

Haru looked at the rocks in his hand as if he could not believe his eyes. He stood immobile for a long time, enough for whispers to travel from one end of the hall to the next. That wasn’t part of the ritual, or was it? Had Haru failed? Perhaps he was merely concentrating. Yes, that must have been so. 

“Haruk Ah Bey,” called Makeen. 

Haru did not respond. 

A wave of dread hit Rin. The moment of sacred silence had broken. People began speaking loudly now. 

Ghorozang scratched his head. The two eldest uncles talked among themselves. Aarif looked at Rin, shook his head, and laughed. Seyjur got up and left the Hall of Tears. 

“Little Haru,” Nagi said. 

Haru was still standing. 

“Do something, say something,” Rin whispered. 

What was happening?  
Rin clenched his fists. His body was one single clump of muscles, knotted and then stretched to the very limits. He shook and trembled like a criminal before execution. His heart was thumping against his ribcage. The beat echoed in his temples. It deafened his ears.  
From her seat, Gohar was looking at him with worry and pity. The delegates whispered among themselves.  
He had appeared a fool.  
Rin could hear the Vizier’s chortles. Everyone in the room, everyone was laughing at him. If not aloud, they were laughing in their thoughts. The laughs resounded like the beatings of a musician’s fingers against the darbuka, only louder, faster, with a maddening rhythm. Everything was spinning. 

A surge of rage and shame made Rin’s body move. As though he were dragged through boiling water into bale and perdition, his mind and body went to blaze, they were hellfire. Nightmare rasped at his insides from within. Everyone was laughing. It was the end. 

"What do you think you're doing?” Rin grabbed Haru by the shoulders, and shook. 

Haru’s lips quivered without sound. He did not resist. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“Are you out of your mind?”said Rin.

He pulled Haru close and felt pain as their noses bumped.

Haru’s eyes looked through Rin, gazing somewhere far behind the walls, with no expression, as lapis inlays on a statue, as if Haru were a sculpture of flesh without consciousness and senses. 

“Are you trying to destroy me?” Rin shook with greater force. “Is this your revenge, is that it? Answer me. I demand it, answer me.” 

Haru’s head bobbed forward and back for a few instants, and as if he were torn from the spirit world, he looked at Rin. His eyes regained focus.

“What are you doing?” said Rin. “Why did I ever trust you?”

He saw his own reflection in Haru’s eyes; now they were open wide and clear like water, and Rin thought he would drown in them. 

Haru remained mute. He was lacking something as a human, and lacking something vital as a Sha’ir, it seemed. Without him, Rin lacked everything as a Prince.

“Begone,” Rin said. “You hear me, off with you.” He released Haru. “Run away while I’m still merciful. Take your filthy desert dogs and get you gone. You hear me? Run and be glad you may keep your head. I don't want to see you again. Never ever. I will cut your hands and tongue if you dare reappear before my eyes.”

“Meerza,” called Nizamat. He lifted his robe with one hand and ran toward Rin. “It’s only the first try, my Prince, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s been long since anyone has used water magic. The next time I’m sure everything will go as Meerza desires, and the Sha’ir will…”

“Doesn’t mean anything?” 

“No, that’s not it,” Nizamat mumbled, “I just meant that…”

“Let me be,” Rin screamed out. Enough, enough. With fast paces, without looking at anyone else, he left the Hall of Tears. His brisk strides swallowed the corridor, and shame and despair devoured his insides like an acid. Anger rumbled at his temples, until it was pulsating in front of his eyes. The corridor became a vision of a bent, oblique space. Everyone was laughing at him. Everyone knew. Everyone knew Rinaz III was worthless. 

Nizamat caught up with him and pulled Rin by the shoulder. 

“I told you to let me be,” said Rin. “How dare you?”

“You don’t know anything.” The voice didn’t come from Nizamat’s mouth, but Rayn’s.

The scholar had seemed docile and composed. Not now. 

“A selfish kid with no compassion,” Rayn said. “I cannot understand why they treat you as a friend. Why do we cater to your whims? You don’t deserve it. Why does Haru listen to you?” He gritted his teeth. “Do what you are supposed to do, as a man, or don’t approach the Marids ever again.”

Rin frowned and likewise bared his teeth. Who was this impostor to sully with his words and hands the presence of a Prince?

The guards were already upon the Marid scholar.  
Rin stopped them. He was ready to beat Rayn with his own hands.

“You mock Nagi for keeping those jewels and veils,” yelled Rayn, “and you don’t even know why he does so. You don’t even try to learn. Nagi had three sisters, three of them, and now he only has their jewelry. Will you not ask what happened to them?”

It hit Rin as a bludgeon in the head. “Why is that my fault?” he said. His hands clenched. 

“Will you not ask what happened to them before they were murdered?” said Rayn.

He grabbed Rin by the robe and slammed him against the wall. Rin’s shoulder blades hurt from the impact, and his lungs lost all the wind. 

“Do you know what happened to the Marid women?” said Rayn. “And others, do you know? Makeen’s siblings live in hiding, somewhere in the Western Cities now, will you not ask why?” Drops of spit from Rayn’s mouth flew onto Rin’s face. “Will you not ask what happened to our shamans and beys? Will you not ask why I, who has no Marid blood at all, live among them? Will you not ask?” 

Rin grabbed Rayn’s hand yet found no strength to save himself. Rayn’s grip loosened, but only to allow his hands to twist the fabric around Rin’s neck, to push into Rin’s throat from the sides. 

“I hate you,” said Rayn. “I hate you for everything you’ve done. I hate you, and I hate your father, and I wish…” His words trailed off into violent breaths, in and out and in again, like a person crushed by too much toil. He released Rin and took a single step back. Then he looked down, huffed through his nose, and his fists were trembling as if he could barely control himself. “I hate you most because we need you. I don’t know why Haru needs you, but he does. It’s your fault that he suffers. We suffer. And you, you don’t even try…” 

Don’t even try?

Rin snatched at Rayn’s collar, pulling the scholar closer and lifting him slightly. “And you, what do you know? Who are you to talk to me? You think you can do better?” 

‘Disappear, all of you. What do you want? What do you want from me?’ Rin wished to say. ‘I tried, and I can’t change a single thing. Not a single thing.’

The floor below Rin’s feet was crumbling, or so it seemed to him. He was falling, and every set of eyes was on him, reproaching him, blaming him, despising him. 

He pushed Rayn away. “As I’ve said, leave tonight or you will not live another day.” 

His nerves and sinews still high-strung, the corridor still a blob of convoluted space, Rin dragged himself to his quarters. 

He supported himself against the wall when the floor seemed to twist and disappear below his feet, and a guard helped him stand, but Rin pushed the guard away, as well. 

“Just stay away,” he barked.

Enough.

He had shown himself a child, unfit to rule, not once but twice this day. Once for trusting a false Sha’ir, the second time for losing his temper in front of everyone, scholars and guests.  
It was over, everything was over. He slammed each door he passed through. He hurled his kufiya on the floor in his bedchamber, unbelted the Imperial Sword and let it fall. He threw himself on the bed and kicked his slippers off. This was the end. Each of his breaths hitched, but tears would be wasted on someone like him, and he could not cry. 

The end of everything. 

A distant shuffle of slippers became louder, until they finally passed through the open door into Rin’s chamber. Rin recognized the lilt of those steps. 

Gohar sat next to the bed, on the floor. “Rin.” She caressed his hair. “Rin. Worry not, brother. I’ve asked the Marids to stay; they are still within the palace. They feel slighted, but they have not left yet. If you go now, you can seek pardon and make peace with them again.” 

Seek pardon? Make peace? Why? How long would they keep pretending peace was possible? The realm was ruined, what kind of peace could there be? 

Rin snorted. “For aught that I care, for aught that I know they might as well be dead in an alley.”

Gohar put her hand over his. “Brother, you know I've said I'll always stand by you...”

…but she had had a change of heart, was that so?

‘Go on, say it,’ Rin thought. ‘Go on.’

“Will you don a panther skin like some wretched hero, and rave and search around the world for love and companions, for what you have in this very palace?” Gohar continued. “Love is a horse that runs where it pleases, it has no use of bridles. It is not a sumpter, so do not burden it thus. It should not be bred for racing or competition. You cannot compete with love.” 

What had gotten into her?

“You’d lecture me?” He sat up. “What do I care about love? Don’t you see the realm is ruined? And what do you know about love at all?”

“Nothing, nothing really. Yet looking at you, I see this much.” Gohar rose and sat on the bed sheets. “I only wish to see you smile again.”

Rin swallowed all his anger down, for her, only for her, since clearly she was still a little girl, and she still saw Rin only as her older brother. He patted her gently on the shoulder. “You got it wrong, little sister, little dove. There is no love in the affairs of kingdom.” 

Gohar pouted. “I am your sister and I know your heart. I know you better than anyone else.” 

‘Then leave,’ thought Rin. ‘If you know my heart, leave, please. Do not gaze inside me. Never catch sight of what I am.’

She would not go, however.  
“You are not as crude as you show yourself right now,” she said. Her earnest eyes reminded Rin of Rayn, of Haru and of Makeen, and of Nizamat and Nagi, and with the same power they burned through him.

How cruder could he get? How much more could he take and spill until she saw him as he was? How long until she would admit the truth?  
‘Let me be, let me be.’

“You are kind,” said Gohar. “You are. You think and worry about a thousand things. I know brother wants to make everything right. I know you think of father and of our people. I see whom your eyes follow. I see whom your heart loves.” 

Rin turned around, so she was facing his back, and crossed his arms. His cheeks burned like flaming coals. Had she seen him with Haru in that ally? Did she mean something else?

“Brother.”

Rin bit his lips.

“Brother.”

He waited for Gohar to tire of the silence and go away already. 

There was something…Something was amiss. His entire life it had been thus.

‘Was I wrong?’ thought Rin. ‘Am I wrong, and is she right? How? What am I doing wrong? Is Haru not the Sha’ir? Is it my fault? Would the spirit not forgive me?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Sometimes I do not know myself. I must be cursed.’

He wanted to bring prosperity, but instead he spread sand on people's doorstep. It was as if he himself had led the black camel to every doorway of his city. Everything he strived for and for what he had toiled, all had turned into its opposite; kindness to violence, justice to unfairness, power to weakness, and water to sand.

“Don’t push me away,” Gohar said. She sounded as though she would cry. “Don't push others away when they try to reach you. Haru and the others…”

“I wish to rest. We will talk later,” Rin said. 

How cruder could he be? 

Rin heard her sigh.  
“Then later it is,” Gohar whispered. Her pants and skirts rustled, and the door closed smoothly behind her. 

Finally he was alone. He was alone. 

Yet the silence and solitude that he had so desired was weighting heavily on him.  
He did not wish for his thoughts and feelings to be tossed and turned like sand on the streets. He did not wish to think of anything. Even a single thought was too heavy. 

‘Why has it turned like this? What can't I see? Haru… What am I missing? Why does everything I touch fall apart? As long as I exist,’ thought Rin, ‘it's my responsibility. My fault. Everything in Sarimah. Whatever I did, everything was cursed.’

“I won't try ever again,” he said.

Not that he would get another chance.  
Then let Jaleel and the council do whatever they want. Let the delegates follow the Divan. Let Haru leave. Let everything fall apart. Enough. 

Mother was right. Long ago she had seen him for what he truly was. An accursed man. It was his fault. 

“I am cursed,” Rin whispered.

It would be better if he didn't exist, wouldn't it?  
Ironically, while people outside were suffering and dying from thirst, his pool had water enough to drown. Enough to drown. If he got up right now and went outside…would it hurt? How much would it hurt?

He grabbed a cushion and pressed it against his ear. His breathing resounded with the loudness of bells. His blood rang in his ears.

Cursed, cursed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sand rose [[1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desert_rose_\(crystal\))]: rosette formations of crystal clusters of gypsum or baryte
> 
> 2.  
> Since some time ago Arualiaa asked what Gohar was wearing during the first chapter (I think it was the first chapter), here’s Gohar's attire during the ceremony:  
> -two layers of kaftan; the upper dark blue kaftan with golden embroidery at each border and seam, and embroideries shaped as stars on the rest of the fabric  
> -a white belt embellished with golden thread  
> -short-sleeved overcoat of a darker shade of blue than the kaftan
> 
> Jewelry:  
> -a wide choker with jewels and golden coin  
> -beaded necklaces  
> -jeweled earrings that emulate the shape and colors of peacock's feathers
> 
> Head:  
> -colorful kerchiefs and gilded tantour with a white veil
> 
> Feet:  
> -leather sandals with jewels
> 
> 2.a.  
> The boys are dressed in a similar way as they are in the ending animation, just more lavishly, with more jewels and details; more embroidery etc., and all in their typical sentai/power rangers color coding from the anime. (The signature color is predominant for each.)
> 
>  
> 
> 3.  
> There are some other details that I will never explain in the fic, but I was thinking I might add a few notes. You can take them as 'canon' or just as my personal opinion, however you wish. :)
> 
> -The Marid talisman that Rin opened:  
> I based it on a photo that I've seen some time ago, a photo of a talisman/amulet of nomads from the north of Sudan. The sand in such talismans is from a sacred place (probably Meka or Medina).  
> In the world of Sarimah, the sand was taken from the spot where the siren had presumably been changed into stone by the marids, next to a bitter oasis. It's a sacred place for the Marid tribe.  
> Nope, during this fanfic Rin will not find out that it wasn’t 'common' sand. 
> 
> Speaking of Sudan, I used a kaskara instead of something else because the kaskara looks so special to me. The sword is quite long but not curved, and it was normally carried on the back, or with the sheath’s strap hanging from the shoulders and with the sword under the arm. 
> 
> -Nagi and his veils and jewels:  
> I imagined that Nagi has kept not only his sister’s jewels and some of the clothing, but also their way of speaking and addressing him when he was little.  
> It's something of theirs that Nagi can preserve and also use at his advantage. 
> 
> -If you noticed, Nagi is always offended because Rin doesn't remember him: That's because he actually remembers Rin. Though Rin met every one of the group except Rayn before, he remembers mostly Haru. That's because most of his attention went to Haru.  
> I think Nagi felt left out of the group at that time (and occasionally he feels like that now, too), like nobody paid attention to him and took him seriously. Like in the anime, more or less. 
> 
> -I don't know how clear it was in the previous chapter, but the anatomic books/research are the reports and findings that the men of the previous sultan got from torturing the Marids. They believed that like in the tale of the siren, the Marids' bodies possessed magical powers that could change sand into that fabled siren's rose. So basically they believed in magic and alchemy.  
> I'm pretty sure Rinaz II, Rin's father, also had a laboratory and torture chambers somewhere (and a graveyard), but Rin never learned where, and by now he even forgot of its existence. It's easier for him to cope that way.
> 
> As for the madness of Rinaz II, I'm sure the main reason was not physiological, but psychological and social. The pressure, the constant fear of betrayal, and so on. 
> 
> 4\. Thank you for reading. :) I apologize for any possible remaining mistakes in the fic.


	13. Until the Day Break, and the Shadows Flee Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is borrowed from the Song of Songs.

  
_O moon of the darkened bedroom_  
_I kissed him once, just once_  
_As he slept, half-hoping half-fearing_  
_He might wake up._  
**\- Abu Nuwas, Poem XXXIII**  


  


Rin awoke into the night breeze, with fear and beads of perspiration plastered to his body. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Nightmares had tormented him as a hunter’s arrows tormented wild game. Across the wilted grass and craggy slopes and sand, till the oryx had no strength to run, till there was no escape.  
As the sharp, unwelcoming desert winds outside the city walls, so his breaths were billowing. He could almost taste the grains of sand in his mouth. In vain he tried to swallow. His lungs were about to burst. His hands trembled.

Frantically his fingers fumbled after the golden water jug, yet knocked it over. A thud was followed by the gentle sound of running water.

“Water,” he called, “bring me water.”

A servant rushed in with a new jug and a crystal cup filled to the brim. Rin snatched it and drank.

“Are you well, Rinaz Meerza?” Nizamat said. He must have replaced that new servant for the night, probably out of his own worries for the Prince. Kind Nizamat.

Rin handed the cup back. “Leave the water here.”

“Are you well?”

“Yes. I am fine.” Rin waved his hand at the scribe. He wished to see no one. He lay back on the cushions.

“Is there anything else for which this servant can be of use?” Nizamat said.

“Yes,” said Rin, but found himself unable to continue.

Nizamat waited patiently.

Rin turned to the other side, so he wouldn’t have to see Nizamat’s expression. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

“It’s in the past already,” Nizamat said as if it had been nothing.  
Then he continued babbling how it was his pleasure to serve his Prince, how it would be all right, because the Prince was honorable—all the things that Nizamat had kept repeating day after day of his servitude and that had made Rin feel worthless and ashamed of day after day, because none of those things were true. Such words were empty, cheaper than dates at the bazaar.  
At last Nizamat left the chamber.

The air felt dry and cold on Rin’s sweaty skin. It was the merciless desert air, flowing from the windows. No incense and no spice could hide the dry stench of the sand. Rin shivered with cold. It seemed to him that he could inhale the breath of every person who had traveled across the deserts and died.

What had he dreamt of? He called the nightmare to his eyes again.  
Ah.  
Fish had sprung from the sun-whipped dunes, up into the empty blue sky, and fallen back onto the searing hot sand. They had wriggled, flapped and swung their tails, and had opened their mouths. The desert had strewn their fins and scales with golden sand that had glittered as diamond dust. They had swum across the dunes, around him, and right below his feet.  
He had felt father’s strong palm on his own shoulder.  
“See,” father, the Sultan, had said. “All this is yours. I will make gardens out of deserts. I will turn every grain of sand into a jewel. There will be no more poverty. That is my wish. All I have I give to you. You will rule a land like no living king had before. Praise for my deeds, for your deeds as well, will rise to all corners of the heaven.”  
Little Rin had glanced around. The fish had been dead. They had turned to smelly black stone. It had stunk of dry fish and rotten dolphins flesh. Blood covered them in streaks, as red veins inside the marble. Their shadows had continued to swim across the sands.  
Gohar had stuck her tiny hands into the ground, digging holes for the fish and weeping.  
“No, don’t touch that,” Rin had cried out, but no voice had come from his mouth.  
Gohar, Gohar.  
Her fingers uncovered the statue of their father, black marble, blood-red streaks, his resting place.  
Father, father.  
Rin had begun to run, run as fast as his legs had carried him, yet the soft sandbanks had kept crumbling under his feet.  
Run, run.  
He had trodden the same spot over and over.  
It had hurt below his ribs. Someone had stood far behind him, someone had been calling him. Rin had been unable to turn. Desert spirits had possessed his body. Desert spirits had called his name.  
Someone, someone.  
He had fallen on his knees and cried.

“You must not waste water like this,” had said a voice.  
Haru had rubbed Rin’s tears away. There had been no expression on his white face. He had carried a multicolored flower on his chest, with open, tender and bright blossoms in the middle, and hardened and sere blossoms on the outside. It had dripped red from its petals, red onto the sand below, and red down the blackened torso. Haru’s skin had been clad in stone as well.

“Haru, Haru,” Rin had said.

Haru had lain on the sand like dead fish and dolphins, or dead marble. The dunes had split, moved like ocean waves, and dragged Haru’s statue as they had done with the sultan’s body before.  
“Haru, Haru,” Rin had said again.

What a foolish dream.

“Am I truly cursed?” he whispered to the empty room.

“Not yet.” The voice carried a familiar tone. It was as cold as the midnight moon and as soft as the slightest of breezes.

It must have been a dream again. Was Rin dreaming?  
He sat up and leaned his back forward. “What are you doing here? How did you enter?”

In the darkness the apparition shrugged. It stepped closer to the brink of Rin’s bed.  
There was no doubt. Rin clenched his jaw. In his chest, his heart folded unto itself like a wounded, frightened sparrow.

Without even a turban or a shawl, the figure shook its dark head. The night had colored his bright, sky-tinted eyes with the gloom of the deepest wells. He pulled his kameez over his shoulders.  
No flower blossomed over his heart, no drop of blood trailed down his skin. His abdomen was not marbled with black and red, no, it was like alabaster, like nacre, and like bone.

Haru shook the slippers off his feet. He walked slowly, unfastening his belt. His sash fell on the floor as well. He made a halt, standing there for long instants, and then he undressed of his sirwal and loincloth, as well.

‘The desert spirit had come back to haunt me,’ thought Rin. ‘This time in flesh.’

All the evil words he had flung at Haru’s face, had Haru come to return them with fists, nails, the curses from his lips, and the grip of his teeth? Had Haru come to absolve? Certainly not. Rinaz III was beneath absolution.  
No, that was wrong. As the Crown Prince he was above. He would not accept absolution from some lowly desert traveler.  
Rin squeezed his hands into fists to stop them from quivering. They opened again. His knees moved forward. Before he knew, he was crawling across the sheets like an animal. Already he was at the brink.  
So was Haru, leaning on the mattress with one knee. He bent forward and thus he stood rigidly as a block of stone.

Their eyes were level.

Haru’s lips were squeezed together tightly, but his eyes were widening as though he knew neither where he was nor what he was doing. Were his lids heavy from crying? No, Haruk Ah would never squander water on tears. He was the Sha’ir.

Rin lifted one hand and carefully traced the skin below Haru’s eyes. It was dry, as he had expected. His hair was wet, though.

“Have you been to the pool?” said Rin. Instead of asking for forgiveness, he brushed Haru’s hair, cheeks, and lips.

At the touch, Haru’s lips broke open, open as though he had had been holding his breath this entire time. They opened as an old lock would yield and shatter at the gentlest touch. As a treasury chest they opened.

Haru’s gaze darted over every feature on Rin’s face. “Hn,” he said. He averted his eyes and then stared back, as though waiting for a sign. Any sign.

Rin smiled. His muscles relaxed. Again he felt power. It was the power to pry inside and plunder all fortune, take all treasure. It was the power to have and own and take more still.

His thoughts followed a single trail. If he possessed Haru as he should, everything would be fine. Haru would listen and perform orders without hesitation. He’d perform the ritual the way it was supposed to be.  
This was how it was supposed to be. Kings and servants would never be the same, and while he was king to be, Haru was not.  
Warm, greedy joy enkindled his limbs.

He latched onto Haru’s necklace with his fingers and jerked Haru’s face closer.

With Haru’s breath brushing Rin’s lips and nose, Rin felt his determination melt. Had he ever seen such hopeful, unsettled gaze in Haru’s eyes?  
Again Rin saw that his needs were far greater than the need for a Sha’ir. No water in the world would be enough. No wealth in the world would suffice, and even Haru’s submission would be a poor substitute for what Rin needed. Haru was not a servant. He was more than the Marid Sha’ir, as well. What Rin wanted from Haru…

On their own accord Rin’s lips spread expectantly. He grabbed Haru by the shoulder and pulled him onto the bed.

Haru followed, yet then he used his hands and weight to pin Rin under him.

“Didn’t you understand?” said Haru. “I’ve told you I needed a token offering for the spirits. I need your soul.”

“What are you…” Rin tried to wrench from under Haru, but Haru held him tightly. Rin should be able to push him off, and for sure it should not take such exertion. Yet perhaps it wasn’t Haru who was strong, it was Rin who was weak against him. Haru was his weakness.

“What about my soul?” Rin said. His soul, what was that even supposed to mean? Yet hadn’t Haru mentioned this same thing, Rin’s soul, before the ritual, and the first day at the pool?

Haru lowered his face. “If your soul is confused, how cannot be everything you do?”

“And you,” Rin said, grabbing Haru’s wrist, “what about your soul? You keep changing your mind, now it’s yes, now it’s no, and a moment later it’s no answer at all. How am I to know what you think? How am I to know where I stand? You don’t show a single expression, so how am I to see your soul?” He pushed up, forcing Haru to lift his back and sit upright.

A robber was berating a thief.

They stared at each other in the shadows. Wide-eyed, with lips sealed, it seemed that Haru didn’t know how to reply.

Had Haru come merely to reprimand?

Instead of ire, from the depths of his own soul Rin pulled despair. “I’ve already said it. The day we had reencountered, I told you that you can…I’ve already told you what I had to tell,” Rin whispered. “If you don’t know, it’s because you’ve forgotten, and because you didn’t ask again.”

It was not fair to demand from a man to remember what had been said to him while he had been ailing or losing consciousness, but it was unfair to demand of Rin to bare his ugly, fettered heart more than once.

“You said you wouldn’t repeat, whatever it was, then what would be the point of my asking?” Haru said.

He was looking at Rin as a man in need of water, as if Rin were made of pure, clean water and not of tainted blood. As if instead of curses Rin could give riches, so Haru gazed at him.

“Say it now,” said Haru. “Repeat it for me.”

Rin felt his throat vibrate with unspoken words. “I…” He closed his eyes.

From the burn deep beneath his eyelids and in his nose, and the lack of air from his gorge downwards, Rin sensed his eyes were about to water.  
Why? Why was this happening?  
Sobs wrestled their way to his lungs. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, and another and another.  
He lay back, covering his face with his arms, and in the lull of silence, he could hear only his shameful bawling.

Haru pulled Rin’s arms away, breaking even that feeble defense. “I’ve told you not to waste water thus.”

Rin bawled even louder. It was humiliating, but he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t utter a word, not even to say, ‘I am a cursed man, don’t look at me, don’t watch me. I’m not the man you think. Don’t look. Don’t.’  
His chest was quivering, constringed and cocooned by too much solitude, and his heart was twisting with more pain than it could contain, with too much weight to bear, too many broken dreams to follow. It hurt. Tears bled from his soul and filled his eyes to the brim.

Why did he have to cry? Why in front of Haru? Why Haru, of all people, why did Haru have to see this shame?

Through the blur of the tears, Rin couldn’t see but a smear of Haru’s figure, and that smear sat waiting.

Even if Haru were to see the ugliness, which he already had, how worse could it be? What worse could Rin show? He had already threatened Haru and sent him away.  
Hadn’t he already shown all the filth inside him? From the sand he had thrown upon the land, to the blood and threats, to the water wasted, and the weaknesses, what difference could a few tears make? Should a drowning man fear of getting wet?

Haru was still waiting.

“I don’t want…to be like this,” Rin said. Why did it sound so weak and pitiful? “I want to be with you and the Marids, and… With you, with you… With you I want…” The sobs cut him off and forced him into silence.

Rin felt Haru touch his face, felt Haru’s fingers slide up the trails of his tears. Without words Haru lay down on him. As trickling water Haru prostrated himself across Rin’s body.

Hesitantly, slowly he kissed Rin once on the mouth. The pressure was gentle, a breath of air. Rin caught in his nostrils the life that Haru emanated, the scent of pool water and a vague note of fish, all twined with some forgotten memory of sand and wind, and the redolence of Haru's skin and hair; smells crude and dainty at once, a sharp tug at the senses. Fine and more intoxicating than every perfume or spice.

As though not knowing what to do, Haru dragged his lips across Rin’s cheek, to Rin’s ear and then neck and shoulders. He drew hidden letters with the strokes of his tongue, as a shaman penning charms.  
With the gentle pressure of Haru’s kisses, as offerings to the altar, both as acid on Rin’s skin and aloe on the wounds, Rin’s senses came alive.

Emptied by tears, now another sensation began to flow in Rin’s veins. It washed every limb of his body from inside. From Haru’s touches spread something titillating and freeing, and it subdued the ache.

Rin lifted his hands, slid them down Haru’s naked back, cupped Haru’s buttocks, and there kneaded the flesh. With teeth he whittled kisses onto Haru’s throat, grazing over the soft skin with greed and reverence. Was this not a dream?

Haru’s hips moved up and down Rin’s sirwal, uncertain at first and then more and more deliberately. He was pulling the jubba from Rin’s shoulders and tugging Rin’s sash, all in one confused and frantic motion.

Rin rose to aid Haru and unclothe himself, but he ended knocking into Haru’s chin. His teeth cut his lower lip. Breathing out in pain, Rin sat up and licked the wound, tasting the salty, metal flavor of his blood. Haru did the same, tracing Rin’s lip and teasing the ache with his tongue.

Without thinking Rin placed his fingers onto Haru’s lips. He broke the kiss. Rin’s index finger pushed into Haru’s mouth. Haru enclosed it with his lips and sucked at it. Why was Haru’s face so handsome? Prettier than the moon and stars outside it was, his every feature comelier than the richest temples and halls. As with the power of a spell, Haru held Rin’s attention.

Rin slipped in another finger, and Haru welcomed it with half-closed eyes, brushing his tongue round his fingers and licking between them, tickling the skin where they connected to the hand, and encircling Rin’s golden rings. For an instant Rin asked himself if this was what they were supposed to do, what lovers were supposed to do at all, if they even were lovers. Then the licking, kissing sounds of Haru’s mouth drowned all hesitation. Rin turned his fingers slightly, exploring the cavity. It felt warm and wet. From the length of his fingers to his mind, jolted sensations he couldn’t quite describe; the coarse texture of the buds on Haru’s tongue, then the smooth, slick surface of the other side. The pleasant nibble of sharp teeth, the soft, tender palate, the pressure of Haru’s cheeks and lips. The water of Haru’s mouth. It sent tingles of pleasure across Rin’s body. As a chilling, exciting rivulet beneath his skin it ran deep into his stomach and lower, inside his groin.

Haru sucked and licked his fingers with the same fervor as he drank water, as though it brought him pleasure instead of Rin. Rin swallowed down. Without clothing, he could see the effect of it on Haru’s flesh. He knew not where to look, Haru’s face or lower. Where to touch?

With his other hand, Rin pushed onto Haru’s shoulder, trying to lower him. Haru glanced at Rin with a question in his eyes. In response Rin pulled his fingers out of Haru’s and pushed Haru downwards with both hands, for he found no courage to voice his desire. He felt his face burn up. He fumbled to undo his sash. Haru joined. He tore the knot open and began dragging the sirwal and loincloth from Rin’s hips and legs. Soon Rin sat with only part of his robe hanging from his shoulders. Haru made him sit at the brink of the bed and stepped down from it himself. He lowered in front of Rin.

The suspicion and the jealousy that Haru might know of this more than him, that Haru might have been thus with someone else before, stabbed Rin as a splinter and lodged right in the middle of the chest. He winded his fingers into the hair at Haru’s nape and tugged.

Haru glimpsed up briefly enough to meet Rin’s eyes and send down Rin’s spine a cascade of tiny flickers and tingles.

“It’s red, like your head,” said Haru.

Rin felt embarrassment pull his face in a snarl. “Of course it is red, which color did you think it would be? Did you think I'd dye it black for the occasion? You’ve seen me before, at the pool, haven’t you?”

“I wasn’t paying attention to it back then.” Haru bit his lips. “It’s nothing. I just imagined it differently.”

What had he been imagining? Had he been thinking about Rin this way?

“Differently how?” said Rin.

“I’m not sure,” Haru said. “I think I imagined you to look exactly like myself. But you were never like me. You are what I’m not. That’s why we…I understand now.”

Haru took Rin’s member in his hands with some quivering certainty, as though this were no stranger than kissing or embracing, whilst it was also something new and untried, the charting of new territories on their skins and souls. A hunt for…something that had to be done, because they could not live otherwise. At least Rin hoped, prayed, and implored the spirits it was the same for Haru. He gulped a bit of saliva down. Though he gazed into Haru’s eyes, he could not scry the answer, for he was too eager, it was too dark, and they were too distant, too close, too…

“Haru,” Rin whispered. It sounded too needy.

His body was tense before even Haru touched him, before Haru began to stroke him from the tip down to the shaft and back up.  
Rin let his left hand wrap into the covers and hold it with force. Too quickly came the pleasure, too sharp it was, too enticing. Rin closed his eyes to keep himself sober, to withhold his moans. He bit into his lower lips, rousing the pain from earlier.

His eyes burst open and centered on Haru’s face once he felt Haru’s tongue encircle the tip. Haru teased the tip with his lips, gave a seductive glance with slanted eyes, and took the red crown into his mouth.  
Rin held his breath. He felt as he had when Haru had sucked his fingers, only it was stronger now, the pleasure multifold, and Rin could feel every touch and turn of Haru’s tongue, the inebriating warmth that emanated from the inside of Haru’s lips. As if all the blood in his body had rushed to one single point, to meet Haru’s lips and hands, almost painful, it was almost painful. The sounds Haru made resembled kissing.

And as with kissing, by touching Rin thus Haru also loosened Rin’s mouth. Rin gritted his teeth, but his lungs and lips exploded into a feverish chant of sighs. Like tears earlier, he was now bleeding pleasure and moans. He fumbled round Haru’s hair, caressing, tugging, he didn’t know himself which.

How strange, Haru was doing just what Rin had bid him, doing it without objection, too, yet Rin felt the one with power was not him but Haru below him. Haru had command over Rin’s body.

Whilst Haru’s face and body were more composed than his, even Haru was far from the calm and cold Sha’ir. The way Haru’s lips opened and puffed, the way he seemed captured by his task.

Haru looked up, one rapt glance from under the lashes, and Rin inadvertently bucked his hips. Haru gagged and moved his face away. He coughed, narrowed his eyes at Rin, and Rin mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

Nodding, Haru wiped his lips. He opened his mouth for Rin again. His face changed expression, and his cheek distended each time he came forward, and now his mouth and hand moved in synchrony, and the grazing pressure, the gentle peck of teeth, the heat, and the tantalizing laps around the crown were chipping away at Rin’s conscience. He never felt thus when he had stroked himself with hand. Something in him cracked. Rin could hardly care of the voices and whimpers he could not control.  
Though he wished and needed to thrust up, he retained that much dominance over his urges. He twisted the sheet with one hand. From his toes up to his cheeks he felt how delight spread, fast and cutting.  
“I will…” he said, trying to pull away, but he did not manage so in time.

His seed sprayed over Haru’s face. His body pulsed. Rin felt the painful trace of Haru’s teeth at the tip of his cock. He stood, feeling shame he couldn’t explain. In silence Haru borrowed a bed sheet to wipe his face.  
“I’m…” said Rin. Idiot. He lay on the bed, turned away from Haru, and doubled up. The moment he had done so, he realized that was also a stupid thing to do. His breaths came in and out in panic, yet he could not turn.

Haru climbed onto the bed after him and pressed his body against Rin’s back, embracing him. Rin could feel Haru’s erection poking at his backside. Haru’s sigh brushed his ear. His armlet was cold on Rin’s skin.

Without a word, Haru slid his hand between them, betwixt his stomach and Rin’s back, and by the motions and the rhythmic pressure at his butt, Rin guessed that Haru was stroking himself.

“I can do it for you,” Rin began, “Let me.”

As though he had not heard, Haru continued. Now he was grinding at Rin’s back and buttocks. He pulled Rin’s thighs closer and merely slipped his member in between, below Rin’s posterior. Thus he began pushing and thrusting. He held Rin’s thighs down, trying to diminish the gap, and Rin crossed his legs and pressed his thighs as close together as he could. The necklaces that Rin had put before the ceremony clinked from time to time.

Haru moaned.  
In elder times, this had been the practice that husbands had followed when their wives were too young for else, and Rin wondered how come it hadn’t crossed his mind that he might do the same. The thought that he was in a position of a wife too young for pleasure irked him more than little. Despite that, the sounds and movements to which Haru had abandoned himself were thrilling, inebriating. The singsong of Haru’s breathing was a lullaby for thoughts, a siren's call for senses and desires.

‘Then let me drown,’ Rin thought.

The sighs that clung to Haru’s lips Haru placed on Rin's back, nape, and ears. It tickled. Among Haru’s breaths resounded traces of words and moans, like a prayer. With each thrust Rin felt Haru’s warm suspires, his need, and there was nothing mystical about it. It was a prayer of bones and flesh and nerves, the way their bodies were reciting it now, with sweat and shifting of muscles. As if the elusive spirit had found its mirror and most fitting clothes in the corporeal desires, so their bodies touched.  
Haru slipped his arm under Rin’s, fumbling across Rin’s torso, teasing his nipples, and again provoking him into erection. Their breaths followed a similar cadence.

Again Rin sensed the urge to see and touch more, to possess what of Haru could be taken. He broke the contact, sat, and pushed Haru down on his back. Haru lay with his chest rising and falling quickly, with hands that sought Rin.

Rin leaned over Haru and caressed the inside of Haru’s thighs. Then he sucked and bit the skin around Haru’s belly and down toward the hips, everywhere around Haru’s erect member, allowing himself only to brush it at times with his cheeks. He kissed the tip of Haru’s shaft briefly, a playful peck and nothing more, and continued kissing around it, until Haru started to push his hips up each time Rin lowered his head. Hearing Haru’s sighs was not enough.

When he looked at Haru’s face, Rin saw an expression that robbed him of his senses.  
It was delightfully human, open, and ardent like boiling water. It was the face of someone yearning for the imprint of Rin’s touches, for the caresses of Rin’s lips, for the brushes of Rin’s hands.

“Sit here, between my legs,” Rin whispered. He felt shame no more, not a bit of it. Instead Rin felt power, but in a different way than he had imagined. From head to toe, excitement spread and moved his thoughts.

When Haru crept up, Rin pulled him in his lap. He helped Haru sit in front of him so that Haru’s back touched Rin’s chest. He reached from Haru’s hips toward the front. As he would do it for himself, he enclosed one hand around the shaft and began fondling.

Haru sank his head with a sight.

With his free hand Rin played with Haru’s nipples, showering them with caresses and pinches. Haru’s musky scent tickled his nostrils. Under Rin’s hands Haru moved. He turned and shifted as if hoping to find which position would bring him more pleasure, which position would allow him to seize Rin. He raised one hand and tried to embrace Rin, but the position was uncomfortable for both, and he let his arm drop.

“Stay still,” Rin whispered into Haru’s ear and kissed it.

His hand was moving faster—a few quick, rougher strokes at the upper part, intermitted by a small pause and a slow, deliberate downstroke. He bit into Haru’s shoulder, guiding then his tongue across the line of neck that Haru offered.

Soon Haru’s sighs became louder and more frequent. He turned his head around, grasping for Rin’s lips. At a strange angle they touched, and Rin was sipping moans and whimpers from Haru’s mouth as though they were pure water. They were clear water, though now they still tasted more of Rin than they did of Haru.

Finally Haru turned and kissed Rin, his tongue breaking past Rin’s lips and coiling around Rin’s tongue with force. Rin glided his hands up Haru’s thighs, back to the loins.  
Midkiss Haru moaned. His body shuddered in Rin’s arms.

Rin removed his wet hand and wiped it with the sheet Haru had used earlier. Haru cleaned himself as well.  
Not wishing to say anything, Rin embraced Haru. Although he was still excited, he didn’t care, and tiredness and slumber weighted his eyelids.  
The earlier events of the evening seemed moons and moons away, irrelevant. He couldn’t even remember why he had thought it important to be better than Haru, or to force the water ritual so soon. Everything had its place, its time, and now it was time to rest. Tomorrow they would solve whatever would still need solving, not now. His body was too light, his mind clouded from the world and enwrapped in joy. Rin threw himself on the mattress, pulling Haru with him. They lay abed, Haru’s blue eyes gazing at him, and Rin still felt warm, hot even despite the night chill. The pillows were soft. Rin had never noticed how soft they were.

Occasionally they pounced at each other as two lion cubs, more play than anything else, stealing love and touches between moments of rest.

At last Rin closed his eyes with one hand over Haru’s stomach. He thought he caught Haru’s smile, but that was probably a dream already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that in the draft I accidentally wrote that Haru's face was "fansome" instead of handsome, and I think I wrote "sand" instead of "some." (And right now I wrote "draft" as "daft.")  
> I'm taking a small rest. If I won't be able to answer to the comments on the previous chapter today, I'll try to reply tomorrow. I need my bed. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, thank you even more for commenting. I'm sorry for any possible remaining mistakes.
> 
> BTW, if you were guessing that maybe Haru kissed a sleeping Rin, you were guessing right. :) Ah, all the things Rin doesn't know...
> 
> Chapter title from the Song of Solomon.


	14. A Part or Apart

In the morning, Rin wondered if it had been another dream. Next to him the bed was empty, and at first glance the chamber was devoid of any sign of Haru’s visit. Yet never had dreams appeared to Rin as colorful and as palpable, and thus he had concluded that it had not been a dream at all. His lower lip was broken, and when Rin touched it, it tingled with pain. Not a dream. 

The sunrays were already intruding into the room. What time was it?

“Too bright,” Rin said to himself.

Nizamat brought coffee. It would demand too much strength to question Nizamat’s presence and the implication thereof, thus Rin didn’t. 

Helping Rin wash and dress, Nizamat blushed. Why? What was there to blush for? 

“My Prince?” Nizamat said. “Shall I bring ointments and salves?”

“What?” said Rin. He noticed only then the marks of bites and kisses on his shoulders. He had thought only his lower lip had been hurt. Nizamat pointed at Rin’s neck as well.

“No need for salves,” Rin said. 

Nizamat tended to Rin’s dressing, and applied kohl to Rin’s eyes in order to ward them from sickness, the evil spirits’ gaze, and the inexorable sun. 

Contrary to the new servant, Nizamat was careful and proficient at the task. Rin was not afraid to close his eyes, not afraid that Nizamat would poke his eyeballs out with the stick. 

“Don’t you have your duties?” Rin whispered, his eyes still closed. Had the Divan chased Nizamat out?

“My duties are to you, Meerza,” Nizamat said back. “First to you.”

How had he gone from a scribe to Rin’s personal servant in first place? Because of sentences as the one he had just uttered? Or the sincerity in them? Nizamat was sincere yet not too garrulous, at least most of the time, and at hand yet not in the way. Again, most of the time. In comparison to the new boy, Nizamat appeared as a paragon of almost every virtue. 

Rin opened his eyes as Nizamat carefully wiped the black dust that had fallen on Rin’s cheeks. 

“What worries do you have?” Rin said, glancing at Nizamat’s silver hair. Then he observed Nizamat’s work in a piece of clear glass mirror.

“My only worry is to see you…” Nizamat’s voice died off but then rose with renewed vigor. “You have so many talents, Crown Prince, and you will rule well. I wish to see you gain your throne and rule.”

He took Rin’s hands into his own. “Meerza has so much to offer, don’t let a mistake or two overshadow your talents.”

Rin narrowed his eyes.  
How foolish. Which talents did he have? Talents to close the water off and take blood? Talent to misjudge people’s hearts and strengths again and again? Talents to yell? All that he had achieved he had done so by struggling, and now it was clear that his achievements amounted to nothing. 

Yet Nizamat’s gaze shone earnestly. 

“Is that how you see me?”said Rin. It sounded more severe, more heated than Rin had intended. 

“I speak the truth.” Nizmat looked down. “But forgive me, Meerza, I came to tell you news from the Divan.”

Rin gulped. He felt his body turn numb.

So Nizamat had already met with the scholars this day. What had uncle Jaleel and the others decided?

“The Vizier would like Meerza to join the next session to discuss Meerza’s trial,” said Nizamat. 

Of course. They would tear him as jackals would tear a babe. No, he couldn’t meet them now. 

“Inform them that their Meerza had taken ill and would like to rest for a few days,” Rin said. “Wait, I’ll write a message ordering them to keep you as my voice until my return.” 

His fingers trembled above the paper as he wrote. He was fleeing from the truth, from his failure. Ordering the Divan anything was mayhap pointless in the current situation, but so far he was still Prince. 

“I will do my best,” Nizamat said. 

Rin raised his fingers to dishevel Nizamat’s silver-gray hair and stayed his hand before doing so. “Do not forget to hone your arts as well. You are a scholar, after all. Your translation of the verses of Marrakh was good. Now leave me. I will call you should I need anything from you. Likewise, come to see me if the Divan decides upon something disagreeable.”

Nizamat took the document and bowed. “Thank you, Meerza.”

“Wait,” said Rin. “Have you seen the Marids today?”

“Yes, my Prince, I’ve seen one of them with the Princess this morning. Shall I call them for you?”

“No,” said Rin. “No. Thank you. You may go now.”

He sat back on the bed. 

At least the Marids hadn’t left, just as Gohar had said, and that alone was relief enough. His shame was too great to ask them to be brought before him now, however, and his fear was too strong to allow his legs to walk to them. 

Without their aid Rin would never rule, even less rule well. Rule well… Thoughts of father came as unbidden as the irritating dust and sand came with the winds.

‘I must do what you did right, without repeating what you did wrong. I must be better,’ thought Rin. 

First he had to apologize to Haru, to lower himself and ask forgiveness. Not only Haru, Rin owed apologies to each of the Marids.

He did not know how to be with others unless he was above them, though. The Prince could not simply lower himself and beg, not when begging came from heart instead of schemes.  
At some point in his life, perhaps already when he was a child, he had learned that he had to be to be the best to be considered equal, to be considered good. ‘I want you to love me’ had become ‘I want you to worship me.’ Rin was the Prince, after all, and as such he had a legacy to honor and upkeep. ‘Good’ had never been ‘good enough’ in his case.  
Yet now he had equally little of love and worship, and even less of power, so what had his efforts achieved? If he decided to keep his pride, what kind of pride did he even have to keep? Pride over what?

There was no water in the desert paradise. If the Divan found a way to rule without Rin, as it seemed likely, what then? What of him, what of Sarimah? If his treasurers and advisers said to increase taxes again, how would he deny them? If the Western Cities attacked, no taxes would be high enough. Tributes would be paid in water, gold, and blood. Rin would be powerless against it. 

Besides, as he was now, even if somebody placed the whole world in the palm of his hand, he would crush it. He would crush it without even knowing how and when. Whatever he touched would wilt inevitably. His love had been nothing but devouring mistrust and demands. He had been taking and taking under the guise of giving.  
Surely Haru despised him. Or was that too strong to describe Haru’s emotions? Likely he saw Rin as worthless and little else. The night they shared, did it have any meaning under the scrutiny of sunlight?  
For long Rin had tried to best his emotions, and now he was losing again. 

In truth if Haru had completed the ritual and restored the water, Rin might have undone even such victory with his own hands. His words might have been crueler still.  
‘I do not need you anymore, begone,’ he might have said. Mayhap once it would have lost its use, Rin would have cut the arm that ached. And he’d have cut his own heart, for his heart ached, too.  
It was useless to cry now. The tears didn’t care about uses and avail, however.  
He was the Crown Prince, Rinaz III, heir to whole Sarimah. Tears would not befit him. He was also Rin, and the tears were all he had left.  
He cried. 

‘Trust makes way for treachery. Cut everyone you do not need, trample them before they trample you. Use their weakness for yourself. Wound them before they can wound you. Send them away before they would leave you on their own. Only then you can be above, only then you can be safe.’ 

Fool, what a fool.  
He had learned the wrong lessons. Where was this safety? How was he above? Above what? Above whom? He was alone. 

‘Only your soul will do,’ it echoed in his ears.  
If Haru had said ‘your heart,’ Rin could at least tear it out and offer it to Haru, but the soul, where was Rin to find his soul? How was he to give his soul?  
It could not have a literal meaning, could it? Like the fallen heroes from the fables, half-humans who gave their soul to jinn for power, or kept the soul hidden in a bottle or a coffer to attain immortality for the body? Did they not become akin to demons? Was this what had happened to father? 

Rin held his hand over his heart. Its flutter he could barely sense, as if the agony had squashed it, and as a flower parched by sun it now wished to die. 

Besides, what worth could his soul possess? Surely it was corrupted, blackened by the curse of the endless sun. 

Rin walked to the window. “What is the solution? What am I to do?” he asked of the bright sky and the white and yellow houses of Alamas. 

He crouched and sobbed without tears. “Father.”

 

That whole day and the day that followed, nobody came to see him except Nizamat. Not Haru, none of the Marids, and not even Gohar. Rin couldn’t find the will to visit the Chamber of Water, either. Water was treacherous. 

Once or twice Rin called servants and guards and gave them random orders, just to verify that they would still listen. They did. The Vizier and the Divan were probably not playing a game so open that they should have exerted such pressure in the palace yet, and it probably suited them more if the Prince did not feel completely cornered. A cornered animal fought back more fiercely.  
Right now their hands were free to construct or demolish Rin and the future of Sarimah. As long as Rin limited himself to the confinements of his quarters, Jaleel might even let him be. The Divan might even agree to crown Rin.  
Was that the solution? If he would be willing to play the puppet and become sultan formally, he could take advantage of that situation, perhaps. Or perhaps he would only die a young sultan. Rin was tired of games and suppositions, and he lay in bed most of the time. 

Perhaps Amameera would be able to counsel him in this situation, but she was out of reach. 

The awareness that they would not come for him again, not Gohar and not the Marids, crystallized into dread. They had offered Rin their hand, leaving behind the grudges they could hold against him for his name and blood alone. And that same hand Rin had refused. Even more, he had repaid their kindness with ruthless words. Why should they seek him again?

Thoughts and worries tormented his every breath. At last Rin could not despair and sulk in his halls anymore. 

Yet when he walked into Gohar’s chambers to meet her, he found that she was not there. 

“Princess left with the Marids again,” said a servant to his inquiries, waving her wrinkled hand toward the windows casually. She appeared too old to fear Princesses, Princes, and the like. “She’ll be back at nightfall. Probably.”

They had gone into Alamas? Hopefully Seyjur had followed her and the Marids as promised. 

“Do you know where they went?” Rin said. 

The old servant bowed. “Your half-oasis, Meerza.” 

Half-oasis? Was that how they called the oasis these days? Rin sighed. 

He called for his new servant and ordered him to saddle a horse. 

Rin breathed in. How hard could it be? He only needed to ask forgiveness. That much he should be able to do. 

As he descended to the courtyard, a groom led a black horse from the stables. He brought Ateefa with mane and eyes like night skies, a mare, one of Rin’s favorites. 

“Shall we go,” he whispered, caressing her muzzle. “It will go well, will it not, what say you?” 

On her back the short travel was liberating. Rin had almost forgotten the sensation of riding; like controlling and riding the wind, only this wind was made of muscles.

After he had passed the streets of Alamas and Ateefa dug into the sand, Rin found out that even the desert did not bother him. His heart galloped with the horse. It should go well. 

‘It must, it must,’ he thought. 

The oasis indeed deserved the name of half-oasis, and soon it would deserve a name of even smaller proportions. One-third-oasis, perhaps. Inquietude made Rin’s fingers play with the reins. From atop a dune he watched.

On one side of the oasis extended the workers’ tents and huts. The workers had dug several holes in the dry part of the oasis, and still they were digging. Other artisans and workers were running from one post to another, leading donkeys or carrying utensils. Perhaps even documents, but Rin could not tell from this distance. 

Then he saw the Marids. He noticed Gohar and also Seyjur with a group of guards.  
Rayn was now consulting Haru and Makeen, now speaking the workers, or so it seemed. Nagi was dancing around and trailing donkeys loaded with bags. 

Funny how even Nagi’s odd behavior did not annoy Rin anymore. Perhaps because he understood the reason, while he hadn’t before, now Little Nagi’s gestures appeared heartwarming.

Only a bit of will Rin needed to do it right. He could not wait the entire day here. The sun, tapping on his back and his kufiya, was far from gentle.

Down in the oasis, one of the holes collapsed, and everyone dug into the sand to pull the worker out by the rope. They hauled him up. The man seemed dirty, as most other workers were, but unharmed. 

Was there a way to save the oasis? If there was, it appeared that even the water jinn conspired against it. 

Despite that, the Marids formed a circle and embraced, with even Gohar and Seyjur in their midst. 

Why were they so happy? For the worker’s life?

‘And why am I not with them?’

Others were standing in the place that should be his. Even Rayn, who had no Marid blood, even Seyjur, everyone was more welcome than the Prince. 

There was no place for Rin.

The mere thought made him ride down the dune toward them. He rode past the tents, and workers turned their heads after him.  
He had almost reached the Marids.

“No, don’t worry. Just let him mull it over,” Gohar said to Haru. “Brother means well, but he takes kindness for weakness, and responsibility for guilt and evil, so evil and guilt he takes upon himself. Try to understand him. I am convinced, no, I know that he keeps you, Haru, close to his heart.”

Rin dismounted the mare and rushed forward. “You talk too much,” he said.

Gohar turned around. “Brother.”

Haru stood as though she hadn’t said a thing, impassible under the sun. Only Rin was winded from the swelter and the embarrassment. 

Down Haru’s abdomen, a few tender, pink scratches trailed as a vestige of Rin’s teeth, and red welts had budded where Rin had kissed and sucked the soft skin above Haru’s belt. 

Involuntarily Rin’s fingers rose to hide the bruises of Haru’s lips and teeth on his own neck. 

The sun was beating harshly on Rin’s face, as if to scrape the skin from his cheeks. Its rays were like blades. When Haru looked at him, it was yet worse, and Rin felt blisters of fever on the face and chest.

“Crown Prince,” said Rayn, with eyes slightly narrowed, but otherwise without the anger of a few days ago. If anything, Rin saw suspicion and guilt.  
After collecting some papers, the scholar came closer. Did he intend to show those papers to Rin?  
“Oh,” Rayn said then. He looked at Rin’s lips and neck, then at back Haru’s scratches, and coughed. So much for hiding the marks of kisses. 

Rayn cleared his throat once more. “Crown Prince, why are you here?”

No sound came out of Rin’s mouth. He looked at Rayn, at Haru, and at everyone else, as if the words were hanging on their faces.  
Now he’d have to kneel and beg. He’d have to ask forgiveness.  
The muscles in his body opposed, and his knees would not bend. He was not the only one in the wrong, why should he be the only one to apologize?  
“Your results are far from pleasing,” he said. Not the best introduction to an apology, perhaps.

“Brother, wait,” said Grohar. 

“We are not doing this to please you,” said Haru, his features calm. 

Those were not the words Rin wished to hear, no, they were the opposite of his wishes. They were the echo of his fears. All along, his fears had been right, and his hopes had been wrong. 

There was no place for him here. His body felt weak. 

Had he truly hoped that the Marids would forgive all misdeeds and harsh words without him having to utter a single apology, for the grace of his presence alone? His hopes had been pure arrogance. He was more arrogant than a peacock, but with no feathers of his own, and as such the Marids, likely even Gohar, saw him. Now this arrogance was his shame. 

If Haru thought it was Rin's fault that the water ceremony had failed, then that was probably the truth. 

An abyss between him and Haru, and between him and the entire world opened again. His hopes and even the memory of Haru's sighs seemed futile, melting as a piece of ice under the sun. 

Why had he come?  
There was no place for him here. No place for Rin under the sun.

Yet even if he remained apart, even if the Marids despised him, that was fine, wasn’t it? It was fine, as long as the water source was restored. Fine. 

“Do as you wish,” Rin said. 

He mounted his horse and bid her to turn around. Amidst the heat that was enveloping his body, he thought only, ‘Don’t look back. It’s fine, fine.’ 

He spurred the mare into a light run. 

“Wait.” Haru’s voice resounded behind him. 

Rin looked back. 

“There is one more thing,” Haru called, running.

Rin pulled the reins. Haru stopped close to Rin’s horse and took a deep breath. “One more thing you need to hear.”

Rin clutched his fists around the bridle. In one moment alone, the horror of what Haru would say, of everything ending, had drowned him. 

“No,” said Rin. “Don’t speak. I don’t want to hear.”

“I know now why the water ceremony failed,” said Haru. “I have found out. Listen…”

Again he would say it was Rin’s fault. Or he’d regret aloud the night they’d spent together. Or say that he’d leave. Everything would end. 

“I told you I don’t want to hear,” Rin screamed. He goaded Ateefa into a wild gallop, leaving Haru, the tents, and the oasis behind. Clouds of sand were rising with her hoofed heels. 

Sandy wind hit Rin across his face and torso. Grains of golden sand made his eyes water with tears. 

‘If the wind blows, ride it,’ so said a proverb. Yet the wind was always blowing against Rin however he turned. The sand, always the sand; wherever he looked the sand would be waiting for him. The only water he deserved were his own tears. 

For each step Rin took forward, he also took one in the opposite direction, endlessly running in the same spot as he had done in his dreams. It was too late.

Why couldn’t he desire merely the crown? The crown and the water? Why did he need Haru, as well?  
The breeze against Rin’s body was warm, yet coldness paralyzed his senses and encased his heart. He thought his heartbeat would stop.  
The world he wanted for himself he could not have. He could not have it without Haru and the others, because they were…Haru was that world.  
As a coward, he couldn’t even listen to Haru’s words of separation. He didn’t want to hear.  
Instead, Rin wanted to tear in at any cost, to be a part of their group, to be one of them. To be free of the shame he was hiding. To raise his head proudly and laugh with them.  
For so long the water, Haru, and the throne had been one and the same, and now they were falling apart, morphing into completely separated entities, each still precious and each still equally out of Rin’s grasp. 

He slowed the mare as not to tire her.

After reaching the palace, returning Ateefa to the stables, and taking a short bath, Rin ordered to his servant to give notice when the Marids would have returned. 

The new servant nodded. “Yes, august Meerza.”

As he was alone in his chambers, mulling over every word said and unsaid, gradually the thought that he should apologize came to Rin again. Even if the Marids were to deny him at first, they also loved water and Sarimah, and sooner rather than later they should forgive him on that account. He could give them reasons for forgiveness over days and moons. He was willing to, both as a Prince with duties and also as a man with a mind of his own. He was willing to make amends.

So it was decided.

The servant boy slunk into the room. “The Marids have returned, august Meerza. I came to tell you right away. I did well, didn’t I?”

So soon. Again Rin’s heart was in unrest. 

“Yes,” said Rin. “Are they in their chambers?” 

“No,” said the servant. “The pool.”

Rin walked not to the pool, but instead a balcony. It was a balcony like several others in the palace, with a fence of wooden lattice and apertures in geometrical shapes, but it differed from others in the view it offered; a chunk of the gardens, one fountain, and the pool.

Marid voices came to his ears, especially Nagi’s. The sun was still not red, still not ready to leave the world. 

The Marids were swimming in the pool. Only Haru was sitting unclothed next to it, watching the water without touching it. His back was slouching, and his head was hanging forward as if all his joy and desires had been sapped. From the height Rin watched, Haru appeared as a small, wounded bird that had fallen out of its nest. 

Why was Haru not in the water? Why did he appear lonely, like a man deserted and forlorn?

“Is it because of me?” whispered Rin. 

 

“Aren’t you bored like that, Little Haru?” Nagi called below and sprayed Haru with pool water. “Come into the water now.”

Haru lifted his head, shook the water from his hair, and let his back slope down again.

Rayn said something, sent a splash into Nagi, and at that Nagi switched targets. Instead of Haru he followed Rayn across the pool. 

Makeen pulled out of water and sat close to Haru, but Rin was too far to hear their conversation. After a while Haru shook his head. 

Rin leaned on the fence. What were they talking about?

Makeen turned his head and took notice of Rin. 

Rin’s nails dug into the wood. Haru glanced in the same direction, leaned on his hands, and rotated his entire body toward Rin nimbly, swiftly as either a gazelle or its hunter.  
He stood. 

He was watching Rin. The balcony under Rin’s feet swayed. No, only Rin’s knees tottered. For no reason other than his shaky knees and the twinge of pain in his chest, Rin hurried back inside. 

How could a single gaze affect him so?

Not even the familiarity of his chamber gave him solace. To stop from shaking, Rin clenched his hands. He squatted by the bed. He hit his forehead against the mattress. Then he crawled upon it and buried his face into the cushions. In this same bed Haru had lain with him, yet now Rin didn’t know even how to look at Haru’s face without going blank and craven. Rin closed his eyes and dragged his body, his chest and hips, over the colorful sheets, pretending it was Haru beneath him. Haru was in the gardens, however, and Rin slammed his fist against the mattress. He turned on his back. How stupid. 

A knock made him jump up. His heart jumped into his throat at the same time. 

Haru?

“Who is it?” he called. 

“It is I, Makeen of the Marids.”

“Come forth,” said Rin, correcting the position of his jubba and sirwal. He called for the servant boy, as well. 

With signs of water barely wiped from his face and body, Makeen sat on the cushions on the sofa. His head was bare, without a turban, for his hair was too wet. He refused the sweets the servant offered. “I’ve come to tell one single thing. If you want to apologize to Haru, then do so. Do not hide. Do not be a coward. I’m sure Haruk Ah Bey would prefer it that way, as well.”

“Pay heed to whom you're speaking,” said Rin. “Beware that your tongue might cut your neck.” 

Makeen bowed forward slightly. His voice remained soft. “I know very well the power sultans possess. I would not forget it in a lifetime.”

Rin twitched. Of course Makeen knew. His tribe had been persecuted and decimated in front of his eyes. 

‘Is he trying to make me feel guilty?’ Rin thought. ‘Is he accusing me?’ 

Yet there was no trace of anger on Makeen’s face, only lines of sadness.  
For such cruelty as the Marids had experienced, every man worthy of his name would hold anger in his heart, and he would sharpen his grudges like knives. His lips would spell revenge. Makeen was perhaps only good at hiding it, perhaps as good as every noble in the palace. Rin felt his fingers go restless, tapping on the cushions, and heat was rising up his neck.  
He stabbed into the silken cushion with his nails. Why should he feel shame? He did nothing worse than what kings had done before him, and what kings did now. 

“Then treat me with due respect, if you know it,” said Rin. 

A bashful smile stretched Makeen’s lips. “I already do. And if you also know it, treat your power with due caution. Listen with open ears when your lesser speak to you, for the presence of power makes many a tongue go mute.” 

The desert men were all barbarians, uneducated when it came to addressing kings.  
It was as Makeen had said, though, and in the palace, Rin had countless doubts about each truth and motive and silence. It sounded also as Makeen had meant to do him a favor. As if Rin needed a favor. 

‘But you do, you do. You need the favor of every man from the desert,’ said a voice inside him. 

“Speak, then,” said Rin. 

“The teachings of the Marids,” began Makeen but then cleared his throat and scratched his head. “If you wish to understand Haruk Ah Bey, you wish to understand the water and its spirits first. You will soon break the bow if you keep it always stretched. If you mistreat a dog, it will eventually rebel against you and bite.” 

Rin clicked his tongue. “I didn’t ask you to start a philosophical debate. I don’t need a treatise on morality. I have too many scholars for those. If you wish to say something, say it clearly.”

“So be it,” said Makeen. His countenance darkened for the first time. “Understand this, Son of Kings. You cannot extract love by force, you cannot beat water into submission. Pay Haruk Ah Bey and the marids respect, learn to know them, give them trust, and if your hand is just, they will pledge their strength to you. Do you understand now?” He stood though he did not have the permission. “Don’t use him as a tool. He is the heart of our tribe. I, Nagi, and Rayn are every other limb, and as such we will protect him and stand by him. Tell me, Son of Kings, how many limbs do you have? How many bones?” 

Makeen bowed. He spoke the formal greeting as one should when withdrawing from the sultan's presence. Before passing through the door, he turned back. “You cannot force people to feel the way you do. Do you understand that?”

With those words he left.

“Then what is the point of power?” whispered Rin. He grabbed a cushion and threw it on the ground. “What?”

Why was everyone looking down on him? Why couldn’t he change it, or change himself? He was caged, and the world was his cage. His mind was his cage. How could he get out?

It had not escaped his notice that Makeen had described the Marid tribe in a similar way as Rin himself had perceived them. He couldn’t tell if that was because the connection between the Marids was so obvious or because Rin was similar enough to them to think in resembling terms. Either way it pained him. A sense of disconnection and loss, of something missing pervaded him; it was the pain of a missing limb, the limb he had cut away.

 

He rested on the cushions until nightfall, and then, his head dizzy, Rin stalked the corridors of his quarters, avoiding the chambers of the Marids. 

In the evening, the lamps shed kinder light than the sun. 

His legs led him to the balcony from which he had run earlier. Hearing familiar voices, he halted before the entrance and pulled back. Like a thief he hid and peered outside. Two human shapes were standing on the balcony in the penumbra of the lamps. 

“Do you want to go down to the pool now?” said Makeen.

“No need,” said Haru. 

“The baths, then?” Makeen said. 

Haru shook his head. 

“That’s rare for you. I worry,” said Makeen. “Will you not speak with me? All those years as we’ve been growing up I’ve stood beside you, but I cannot read you now, Haru.”

Haru leaned on the wooden fence. It seemed that he would not answer, but then he said, “I need to scoop water with my own hands and likewise to drink it on my own. You cannot do those things for me, and neither did I ask you to.”

“Then I beg your pardon,” Makeen said. 

Haru made a nod. “I suppose one ought to be grateful for the things he receives, even if he doesn’t ask for them. And grateful I am, make no mistake. I’ve understood how glad your company makes me. The company of you, Nagi, and Rayn. Nevertheless you cannot speak with water instead of me, and you cannot give my answer.”

“Did the water speak to you?” Makeen’s voice was low, but excited. “Is that not reason for joy?”

Haru shrugged. He squatted and looked down through the slots of the trellis. “The water speaks, but I don’t know what to do with such answer. It repeats one thing alone, and I can’t bear to listen. I do not understand anymore.”

“Understand what?” said Makeen. “If you wish to talk, I will lend you my ear and offer counsel. If you don’t, I will lend you my silence.”

For a while Haru stayed as he was, watching the gardens below. “I thought I had to kill him to be free, but that was not it, for I didn’t feel that way at all when I met him.” He lifted his hands and rested them on the trellis. “On the contrary. I was drawn to him in other ways. Then I thought I must love him, but I don’t know anymore. What is my destiny?” His forehead touched the fence with a soft sound.

“Do you speak of the Son of Kings?” said Makeen. “There is nothing you must do, Haru, only what you would do in your heart of hearts.”

Silence again. 

Rin drew closer as silently as he managed whilst still remaining hidden.

Haru observed the sky as if counting each and every star. “Then I would,” he said at last, pulling himself up. “I would love him from my heart of hearts. I would love him and have him love me in return. I’d have him love me for myself alone and not for the grace of my ancestors.”

“The grace of your ancestors flows within your veins, it is who you are,” said Makeen.

“Yet it is not all that I am,” said Haru. 

“I understand,” Makeen said. “In that case you would do well to guard yourself. Princes and kings need power before lovers.”

 

That was not true at all. For all the power Rin needed, he needed Haru more. 

‘It should be me,’ he thought. ‘It should be me there by his side. Why are we apart?’ 

Why?

While Rin had tried to own Haru's freedom, Makeen had offered merely to link their independence under a common goal. Offered, not forced. Each other Marid had done the same.  
Slowly Rin fell to his knees. He closed his eyes. Defeat tasted like honeyed ash. By his own actions he had been defeated. By the artifices of his own mind he had been destroyed. With his own hands he had cut off what he wished to hold and feel. 

Instead of offering, Rin had tried to take. While he needed to do so with noblemen and diplomats, Haru was not one of them. Haru did not look at Rin the way the councilors did. Indeed Rin had done wrong to approach Haru in the manner the Prince approached those who looked down on him and wished him ill. 

There was no need to pull Haru closer, Rin only needed to extend his arm and offer it. Haru would…Haru would come to Rin on his own accord. 

‘This is what I should have done.’ 

Rin placed one hand over his chest. It hurt as though it were covered in bruises. If someone stabbed his chest with a spear, surely it wouldn't hurt more than this.  
He felt as though something was pulling him asunder, as if water had engorged him, pulled him down, and tossed him mercilessly left and right. Then as he was about to drown, it threw him up into the air. 

He could breathe. 

It was too late perhaps to undo what he had done, too late to dispel the curse his own lips had uttered, too late for anything at all, but his body was light and solid and every part alive. His mind was clear. He felt free. 

Was that how people felt at the end, after hitting the bottom of an endless abyss, after having ruined what ruined could be? Was this the peace an ending could bring? Could it be, such serenity and calm in the face of the defeat that he had always dreaded?

He could hear the murmur of his bloodstream in his ears. As a thousand jets from mountains, something in him burst. 

Was he crying?

Rin crept back to the corridor. He staggered to his chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And I'm sorry in case I missed any mistake. 
> 
> Also, I sorted the things I have prewritten and tried to calculate again how much I still have to write, and I think there are only 4 chapters left until the end.  
> I doubt I can finish them in one week, but in two you should be able to read the ending, if everything goes well.


	15. Write Thy Curse in Sand

He had fallen asleep. He must have, for now he woke and knew not where he was. His eyes were stinging. He had cried for too long.  
If Haru had seen, he would have berated Rin for all the tears spilled. If he had agreed to speak with Rin at all, of course. Although Rin had tried to reason with himself, to calm his tears, each thought and memory had only aggravated them. Heart didn’t know reason. Nay, heart knew the only reason worth knowing. 

The bedchamber was lit, as Rin had ordered to keep it such, lit and empty. The night still stalked the corners. Nizamat’s reports of several days lay scattered on the bed, and a few of them Rin had crumpled with his body, shifting in his slumber. 

He gathered them. A sigh found its way from the depths of his lungs. 

Five times at least Rin had picked up the papers and five times at least had he put them down, unable to focus both his blurry eyes and mind. Then sleep must have taken him. Kind, merciful sleep. 

Now wakefulness was demanding answers again. 

Since everyone else worked hard for Sarimah, he, too, should do something, or so Rin had thought. He was the Prince. Everyone from Nizamat to Rayn endeavored for the wellbeing of Alamas, and by doing his own duty, his own piece of work, at least in this way Rin was close to them. At least this way his hands joined theirs, and at least this way his heart was close to Haru. 

At first Rin’s mind kept finding thoughts of Haru after every word or two he read from the paper—Haru, Haru—but slowly Rin managed to string the words into sentences, and sentences into a larger meaning. The usual names and the customary machinations of the Divan seemed even pettier now, as if somehow Rin had grown in the days apart, while the councilors had not. In their shrewdness they were unwise. They divided coins and offices whilst the true riches withered. Water was more important. 

The sun rose and enlightened the room. Rin continued reading. 

He had heard the siren’s riddle. He had heard it clearly, spoken as it had been with Haru’s voice, Haru’s doubts and certainties. To those certainties Rin would answer, those doubts he would soothe. Why should each of them bear pain alone, when they could share joy together? For an instant Rin squeezed his eyes shut, only an instant.

He woke again in the afternoon, and gorged down the couscous with raisins and vegetables that the servants had prepared. The coffee animated his spirit. The new servant boy helped him wash and dress. 

Although he was ready, as ready as he’d ever be, his every breath was too shallow to fill him with calm. The tension in his stomach and his chest, the churning in his insides made his legs move.

He needed to see Haru. 

“I know the riddle, I know the answer,” Rin whispered. Even if he waited an eternity, his answer would not change, and equally his tongue would not grow more learned and skillful to express it. 

In the Marids’ chamber, Haru was standing in front of the window, gazing outside. Doubtless he was watching some birds outside to feel their freedom. The afternoon had tinged the hall in gentle reds and yellows, and Haru’s skin seemed like ochre, or liquid gold. 

Contrary to his other companions, Haru did not acknowledge Rin’s presence by kneeling, bowing, and neither by sparing Rin a glance. Well, it was a miracle, perhaps, that the other Marids had greeted the Prince at all.

“I need a word with you,” Rin said. It resounded sharply, as if he were giving an order, though it was meant to be a plea.  
Haru looked at the other Marids and walked toward the door, toward Rin. “Speak.”

Not knowing what else to do, Rin bent his knees in front of Haru. There were too many things he wanted to say, and too few words he found. 

He took Haru’s hand into his own. “You may take revenge if you want to.” 

Haru watched him with mouth closed and with no expression on his face. Silence trickled as poison down Rin’s throat.

“Just do it,” Rin said.

“No,” said Haru.

“Why? Why not?” Rin twined his fingers with Haru’s and squeezed. The warmth of Haru’s skin permeated his palm. 

“I have no use for vengeance,” said Haru.

“Then if there’s anything of mine that you have use for, take it.” Rin said. “Anything. Whatever I have can be yours. I will not offer gold or favors, for I know you will not take them. Yet whatever you crave you may take from me, and I will gladly give, just stay by my side…” Again he was giving orders. “If you wish to stay by my side. If you wish to…” Rin said. “If water is life, than what are you? You are more than water to me.” Gently he pulled Haru’s hand closer, close to his heart. The touch was soft. Soft was the touch that would determine their fates. 

Haru gulped. His hand twitched and fell, while Rin’s remained as it had been, only empty now. 

Yet whatever the cost, whatever Haru would take, Rin was willing to give. He could merely breathe, merely draw in and out his broken, anxious suspires, and wait. 

Haru’s gaze remained fixed on Rin, as if chasing some truths and answers on Rin’s face. 

“If that is so…” Haru made a step closer. His fingertips probed back into the embrace of Rin’s hand. “Call your advisers and your generals and every nawab to the water ritual.” Their fingers trapped each other like hooks, one by one. “There I shall take it.”

“Haru.” That was all Rin could utter.

Haru bent down, brushed a lock of hair on Rin’s face, and drew near as to kiss Rin on the brow. Instead he pulled the collar of Rin’s jubba and took Rin’s lips. 

Once Haru placed a small kiss. Then once again and yet once more, kisses as splashes around the surface of a pool, deeper every time.  
Rin returned each one with growing eagerness.

As one diving into water amidst heat, or as one drinking to satiate his thirst, so Haru pushed past Rin’s lips, into his mouth. The strokes of his tongue came without shame or hesitation. Rin felt them and understood. Rin understood now; for what Haru lacked in words, he made up with gazes, and for what Haru lacked in gazes, he made up with the actions of his body.  
This was Haru, this is how Haru was.  
And Rin could reply. He could reply to each statement and question of Haru’s being.  
A tickling and enticing whisper, an overflowing jolt of pleasure traveled from his nape to the side of his ribs, back to his spine and his rump. His hands raced to pull Haru down and ensnare him in an embrace, to touch the ridges of his ribs, the bumps of his spine, to feel the sweet skin. Sweet. Intoxicating. From the sound of their wet lips touching, to the speed in which Haru’s breaths changed into needy sighs; everything inebriated him more than wine. As if floating midair, or in a pool of water with Haru in his arms, Rin moved to catch and free Haru’s tongue again and again. 

Coughs and voices hauled him back to reality. A fish dragged out of water and left on the sand must have felt just so. 

“Little Haru, isn’t that too much?” said Nagi. “And little Rin, too.”

Rin opened his eyes and pulled back. He was in the Marids’ chamber. He had forgotten himself, forgotten that around him stood the Marids and not a few faceless, opinionless guards or servants. 

Makeen stopped coughing. 

Still Haru kissed Rin one more time. His face was comely, his blue eyes were sparkling like an oasis at midday, and his breath was hotter than the searing sands under bare feet. 

“Perhaps you could save that for later,” said Rayn, gazing down at the floor and covering his face with one hand. 

“Yes,” Rin said, letting go of Haru’s body. Only now he felt embarrassment, barely enough of it to restrain his need. 

Haru released Rin, rose, turned around, and walked to Rayn. Little Nagi clapped his hands and then wrapped his arms around both Haru and Rayn. 

“So we’re all friends, again, right?” Nagi said. 

Rin couldn’t hear the words exchanged between the Marids thereon. He kept kneeling as though he were bound hand and foot on the marble. Makeen offered him a hand to get up. His hand was warm like Haru’s.

“Will he not curse me, then? Will he not take my blood? I don’t understand,” said Rin, knowing, feeling full well that Haru would not. “Will you not curse me, you all? For what I did, for what my father did…you…”

“It was you, was it not?” Makeen said. His voice had lost its meekness but not its sincerity. “It was you who told Haru, ‘Bind with me, and you will see a sight unseen by any man before.’ If you don’t understand, then think what that sight might be. Turbid waters have no reflection, and a mind distraught has no clear thoughts.” 

“What do you mean?”said Rin. How did Makeen know what Rin had told Haru? Had Haru told Makeen that, as well? Then Rin recalled that he had said those words more than once, also a long time ago, mayhap in Makeen’s presence, too. 

“Shouldn’t you be the first to know?” Makeen smiled, and soft wrinkles framed his eyes. “Try to think about it, Rin,” he said as though they were equals, equals and brothers. ‘Rin,’ he had said and not, ‘Son of Kings.’  
He whispered into Rin’s ear. “Just be mindful that Haruk Ah does not push himself too far. Marid magic is strenuous. I cannot restrain him, but he’ll listen to you.” He bowed his head once and returned to Haru and the others. 

They said a knife cut deeper than a caress, but sometimes a caress could hurt more. The warmth of Marid hands lingered. No doubt if Rin touched Rayn’s or Nagi’s hand, he’d discover equal heat and pleasantness. 

He looked at his empty palm. Friends.

Gohar’s voice whispered in his mind, ‘Don’t push me away. Don't push others away when they try to reach you.’

Because they were his friends, not because they were Marids, they listened to him. And the water ritual…

“Wait,” Rin said. “I may not be able to gather the scholars for the ritual. The Divan will probably not allow it.”

“So what?” said Haru, unperturbed. “I don’t need them for the ritual. Why wait?”

“Isn’t that better?” said Makeen. “The water ritual is not intended for the masses either way.”

Rayn shrugged. “It’s not like water will not be water anymore. Meerza’s councilors can be persuaded thereon, after the ceremony.”

They were right. Water was first, and everything else came later. Power came with reason, and that reason was the most important. Water was first. Haru was first. Besides, not even the Divan could deny and refute the intrinsic power of water, the power of sated citizens, and the power of things working according to the water clock of nature. 

Nagi clapped his hands again. “And little Go? Shouldn’t we tell her also? I’ll go tell her. We’ll have to prepare, better this time.”

They were right.

That night, whether Rin slept or kept awake, no woeful thoughts assailed him. He read Nizamat’s reports again, penning notes and questions. His thoughts unfolded a future much different from his past, one with water, wealth, and Haru. On his shoulders Rin didn’t need to carry and drag his father’s corpse into every night and morning, thus he felt. Father was dead, and as such he should rest. Likewise Rin didn’t need to carry the world on his shoulders alone. He was not alone anymore. Perhaps he had never truly been. His sheets and pillows were soft and comfortable, and sleep welcomed him.

The morning came with the sun and woke him, and before it turned to forenoon, already Rin could wait no more. 

“Where is Haru?” said Rin. 

There was only Rayn in the chambers of the Marids, leaning over his papers and tablets and tracing the written lines with his fingers. 

“Is he at the pool or at the baths?” Rin said.

“Our Keeper of Keepers has gone to the purifying ceremony with the others, so you must let them be,” Rayn said, paying more attention to the text he was reading than to Rin. “Don’t ask more. They are safe and they will be back before nightfall. If not by then, they’ll certainly return before dawn.” He looked up. “Are you worried, Rinaz Meerza?” 

“You do not need to join this purifying ritual?” Rin said. Before the first water ceremony Rayn had followed and aided Rin, too, but at that time Rin had not questioned it. 

Rayn’s head sank, and his fingers began to tidy the scrolls. “I’m not really one of them, thus my preparation is different.” 

He took a small wooden chest in his hands and brought it to Rin. “Look, my Prince.”

The lid snapped open.

Inside there was another desert rose, this time one with sharper edges and facets wildly scattered, as if slices of solid sand had formed the petals inside a desert tempest, not the desert calm.

“It’s of gypsum this time, not barite, which means the cluster formation is slightly different,” said Rayn, “I thought it would suit your nature more.”

Rin stopped his hand as it hovered above the sand rose. “My nature?”

“You may touch it, you are allowed to.” Rayn pushed the box slightly forward.

Rin caressed the thin, cutting edges of the blossom. Was his nature thus? Was it knife-edged and serrate, and full like a petrified ball of yarn that opened up? Splintered and broken and beautiful?

“How is it like me?” he said. 

Rayn closed the chest again. “Somehow I just thought so. I meant no offense, Rinaz Meerza.”

“Wait.” Rin tugged at Rayn’s clothes. The thing he was missing might have been here, in the fragments of rock rose and the views of others. He might find it here. Then an open scroll caught his eyes. He snatched it up. 

“What is this?” said Rin. “Have you made this?”It looked like a rough outline of the palace, completed with halls, corridors, and secret passages. 

“Yes, I sketched it based on my calculations,” said Rayn. “I combined the impressions I got from the outer view of the palace, like the number of towers and windows, and the size of the main building. I sketched the template of the corridors and halls I’ve been to, and complemented that with the old designs and descriptions of legendary palaces. I thought they would follow the same pattern and the same construction and compartment principles, and that they would therefore have similar hidden routes. It was mostly guesswork, of course, I didn’t think it would be accurate. Who could have guessed that Haru would have actually found the passage to your…err…”

“I could have you whipped for this,” said Rin. The sketch was surprisingly accurate. So that was how Haru had slinked into Rin’s room unnoticed. That meant Haru had remembered the levers and other mechanisms Rin had showed him as a child.  
“You should hide it. No, tear and burn it right now.”

“Ah, yes, my Prince.” Rayn took the paper with trembling fingers. “Haru wanted to place a protecting spell inside your halls, and your chamber especially, but he didn’t want anyone to pry while he was doing it, so I...I thought I could help him by finding and sketching the hidden routes for him.”

Rin walked to the sofa and threw himself on it. He rubbed his eyes. 

Meanwhile Rayn was trying to burn the sketch with the help of incense. The smell of smoldering papyrus was wafting around the room. 

“It is not my place to say so, Crown Prince,” said Rayn, showing Rin his robed back, “and as you know, I'm not of the Marids. I don’t have their powers. The Marid tribe picked me up as an orphan. I was the last living person in my village, I think. The last and the only. I thought I would die even when the Marids gave me water and fed me day after day. You know what saved me? Not their kindness alone, that did not save me. It was beauty.”

“Beauty?” said Rin.

“Yes.” Rayn turned around. “At that time, I was only asking myself, why was I left behind, what did I do? Why am I alive, but not the others? I screamed and kicked and pushed everyone away. I didn't want to be with them at all. Little Nagi was so insistent I even hated him at time. Yet one morning, I don't know why or how it was different than the rest...because it was not different at all...the sun was the same, and the camp was the same, and the sand was certainly the same, but as the Marid people danced in a ceremony in the cold, early sunrays, I thought they were beautiful. Their limbs moved with such grace, their united voices were like the chants of jinn. I couldn't describe it…I still can't. I don't know why, but I wished to move like them. I wished to be one of them.” Rayn adjusted the spectacles on his nose. “I'm still not much of a dancer or a chanter, sadly, but I make a fairly good scholar, and that is my pride. My calculations and the beauty I seek, those are my pride. And my friends; my friends are my pride, as well.

“You said once that you cannot bring back the past, and I agree. But that's precisely what you are trying to do. The reign of Rinaz II has passed, and now the future is in your hands. There is no war raging currently, and the Marid people are by your side. Why do you live in the pain of your past? Why do you act as if there will never be peace and water? Why do you relive fear day by day? Why do you mourn day by day instead of living? I don't expect anyone to find beauty in the same things I do, but you need to find your own. You need to find, no, to recognize what pushes and pulls you through every pain and misery. Then you need to stick to that with your both hands. You are still alive, which means you still have something you wish to live for. The thing you live for, what is it?"

When Rin opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, Rayn shook his hands. 

“No, don't answer me,” he said. “Answer to yourself.” Then he laughed in embarrassment. “I must have tired you with my little sad story and my monologue. I apologize.”

“No, it’s…” said Rin. It was fine. He didn’t speak of the jealousy and envy he had felt, but there was also no need to do so anymore. “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing,” Rayn said. 

“I know you hate me, so why are you kind to me? For Haru, for the land?” said Rin.

Rayn came to sit on the sofa next to Rin. “For the longest of times I’ve seen myself as a victim and you as a villain, the reason of my suffering. But that was naïve. In war there are victims on both sides. It might be that you and I are more similar than I have ever thought.”

“I don’t need pity.”

“It’s not pity!” Rayn said. “Why would I pity such an insufferable brat as yourself? It has nothing to do with pity. My conclusions stem from deep analysis and calculations, and they are certainly not wrong. You need us, and we need you.”

“Need,” Rin whispered.

Rayn nodded. “Need. I think I understand why you behave thus. Like I pushed the Marids away at the time, the same you’ve done these days. But you want to join them, don’t you? Join Haru, Makeen, and Little Nagi. You wish to be with us, don’t you?” Huffing, searching for words in the air with his hands, Rayn was looking around. “My calculations,” he said. “It’s like math, only between people. People are more logical than it is believed, if you know all the variables in the formula. That’s why I know…What I’m trying to say is that you needn’t be a paragon of humanity to be accepted by Haru and the other Marids. You’re entitled your just place in the world regardless, no need to be the first among the best to deserve love. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He sighed and scratched his head. “It’s… I don’t have a drop of Marid blood in me, Haruk Ah can’t interact with others the way normal people do, Makeen fears fights and ghosts, and Little Nagi is, well, Little Nagi. Despite that we manage. We can survive with a spoiled Prince within our ranks.” His eyes rolled nervously. “No offense, Meerza. My point is that in the end, you can be yourself and grow little by little with us.  
Share your world with us, and come to share our world. We will accept you. Yet you must accept that the whole can be stronger than one single part alone. And treat us with respect. We will accept you.”

“You truly are a scholar,” Rin said. “You sure lecture me like one.” He bowed. “Thank you, Rayn of the Marid tribe.” 

Rayn beamed with a smile. “Then can I also…can I also call you Rin? Ah, no it’s all right, as I thought it would not be appropriate. I have offended you.”

“You may,” said Rin. “You may call me Rin.”

His limbs were as light as light as a silken shawl in the breeze. 

He jumped up to his feet. “Tell Haru and the others to prepare well.” With his index finger he pointed at the scholar, and grinned. “And you, Rayn of the Marids, prepare well, too.”

It was clear to Rin what he had been missing; the strength that came when the power of one conjoined the power of others, when their blood was in motion at the same rhythm and with the same purpose, under a common goal. The differences between them were then like the differences between legs and arms and heart. There were no useless parts. 

The sun that caressed his chamber was white-hot, but pleasant, and the view of Alamas from his windows did not bother him. Rin could watch and be at peace. 

When Gohar came to see him later, he did not look at her, but said instead, “I think I understand.” 

“Understand what, brother?” said Gohar. 

“I feel loved,” he said. It was not as embarrassing to say it as he had thought it would be. It was not as strenuous to smile. 

“You are loved, brother, you are.” Gohar embraced him and began to cry. 

Rin tousled her hair. “Why are you crying, silly?” 

Everything was fine. Almost. It was fine, yet as soon as Gohar left, Rin felt loneliness stalk him. Would he truly not be able to see Haru until the water ritual? His hands began to play with documents and sheets, his closed eyes played with fantasies. If Haru had been like water before, he was like air now, and Rin could not take a single breath without.  
Although he had to be patient, Rin could think of little else. 

His arms could not stand to be empty, and his body could not remain untouched. He untied his sash and pulled his sirwal down to his thighs. 

He reached down and closed his eyes, recalling images of Haru without clothes, of Haru writhing in his arms.

There resounded a thump, two anxious knocks on the wall. No, on the secret door, which was disguised as part of the wall. The door began to open.

Rin covered himself with a sheet, knowing it would be obvious anyway what he had been doing. 

Like a ghost Haru came in, his breaths hitching from the run, and he closed the door, leaned on it, and waited. 

“Haru,” Rin said. He could say either “What happened?” or “You could learn to use the normal corridor instead of my secret passages,” but instead he managed to mouth only, “Haru.”

As a mixture of pain and pleasure the sight hit him in his groin.

Haru was dressed like a dancer, with a belt adorned with beads and tassels, and a veil on his back. His bare chest was heaving, wet with either beads of perspiration or water, and his hair was dripping. Had he been dancing or swimming? Both? Neither? His transparent blue sirwal was soaked mostly on one side, and the wet trouser outlined the muscles of his left leg, while the dry one was revealing only a tantalizing shadow. 

Haru looked at Rin as if to say something, but instead he leapt forward. 

His veil was fixed on his neck, upper arms, and wrists with golden bangles and a choker. When he ran forward, one side of the veil flitted as a wing in the wind, and the other followed the movements lazily, wet and heavy like a fin out of water. Like a merman he seemed, one surfaced mysteriously in human form, yet carrying the sea still in his hair and in his heart.  
His slippers sloshed wet against the floor. He unclasped the golden jewelry, releasing his veil. Thus he stood in front of Rin, waiting. 

Rin waited, too, suppressing the desire to either grab Haru or slip one hand again under the sheet and touch himself. 

Haru tore the sheet from Rin’s lap. He made an uncertain move, as if he couldn’t decide what to do first, and then he leaned onto Rin for an embrace. 

Rin closed his eyes, and Haru kissed them, licked Rin’s cheeks down to Rin’s mouth, and there he nibbled on Rin’s waiting lips. Their tongues twined. Haru kneeled over Rin’s lap. His hips pushed up into Rin’s abdomen, his wet sirwal grazed Rin’s member and belly. The wetness of Haru’s skin and clothes felt strange at first, but not unpleasant. 

“Wait,” Rin said. His fingers had moved already on their own, unfastening Haru’s belt. “What about your rituals?” He should at least appear to care. 

“I heard the water,” Haru said, “Now…” He pushed Rin down on the mattress, and the short fall was like a flight. “I need to hear you,” said Haru. 

He tugged the pants from Rin’s legs.

With his own sirwal half-undone, he straddled Rin and lowered his head, opening his lips slightly for a kiss.  
Rin draped his arms around Haru’s neck, drawing him closer. 

Haru tried to kiss Rin, fondle him, and undress his own pants, all three at the same time, and when he raised his back and leaned in again, he toppled forward. 

His chest hit Rin’s face.

“Hey,” mumbled Rin, grabbed Haru by the waist to move him, but then changed his mind. He lowered his hands from Haru’s waist to his hips. He caught a hint of Haru’s scent, of his sweat. With his tongue he painted Haru’s skin, raking in the taste— something vaguely salty, or perhaps bitter. As he could not discern well, he continued savoring it, uncovering the layers of flavor, chasing the texture of Haru’s skin, pursuing the protrusion of Haru’s ribs below, and then again brushing across the slight incline of the bones and muscles of Haru’s chest. Finally his tongue looped around Haru’s nipples and enclosed one nub within his lips. With his eyes shut, he tried sucking at it, kissing, grazing across with his teeth. 

Haru responded with a strange, seductive voice. He sat up with his hand over his mouth. 

“What is it?” Rin said in a low voice, scrambling from under Haru. He sat, too.

Haru shook his head. “I just didn’t think that nipples alone could be this…” He looked down in embarrassment. 

Rin felt his lips elongate into a smile. Instead of embarrassment, he could feel only triumph. There was no need to hide. After placing a kiss on Haru’s hand, he took Haru’s fingers between his teeth, and pulled them gently away from Haru’s mouth. 

He released Haru’s hand to say so, to say that there was no need for embarrassment, because everything Haru did was winsome and captivating, yet Haru already closed Rin’s mouth with the laps of his tongue. 

Haru kicked with his feet, dragging one foot against the other until the slippers fell down. Rin helped him peel the sirwal and the loincloth off. 

They sat with their legs intertwined, facing each other and unable to stay their hands. Haru’s heat was intoxicating, both the heat of his body and his gazes. Haru reached down and caressed now Rin and now himself, and finally both. Rin caught himself whimpering. 

He bit into Haru’s shoulder and sucked Haru’s skin into his own mouth. His fingers circled and pinched the buds of Haru’s nipples. 

Between two sighs, Haru said, “You left marks the last time.” He licked Rin’s neck. It tickled from Rin’s ear to his nape. 

“You did, too,” said Rin, but neither of them stopped. 

Rin’s senses were thirsty for more, thirsty for everything Haru’s body was giving and everything it was still hiding. The muffled, smacking sounds close to his ear pleased him more than ouds, and Haru’s incoherent moves ensnared him more than the sways of any dance.

Now that Haru dictated the motions and the speed, his want was clear to see…and to feel. It was clear from the way Haru’s hands enwrapped them, rubbed, and swept. It was apparent from the way Haru’s breathing deepened and his voice rose higher. It was obvious from the way Haru kissed and licked Rin’s neck and cheeks, as if he wished to consume him down to the marrow. 

Rin rested his chin near Haru’s neck, letting his moans fall close to Haru’s ear. With one hand he braced himself on Haru’s shoulder, and with the other he joined Haru’s strokes, but he could not follow the rhythm, and his hand was too clumsy from delight. 

He tore the air with his teeth, closed his eyes as bliss began to tie his limbs, and then he felt Haru’s shudders. A few moments later, convulsions and release came for him, too. 

Haru cleaned them both. 

They lay one close to the other, with their arms touching. Rin leaned on his elbow. Haru’s cheeks were still donning a subtle blush from the exertion and the pleasure alike.  
Rin began to frame Haru’s face with his index finger, one gentle caress, and then from the chin he traced a line down Haru’s throat, and finally he played with Haru’s necklace.

“What did you wish to say back at the oasis?” he said. 

Haru lay unmovable. 

“Do you not wish to tell?” Rin said. 

“No, I wish to. I’d like to,” said Haru. “If you will listen, I will tell. I found out why the water ritual failed, and if it was your fault, then it was also mine. My soul, like yours, was not open. If the soul is closed, then the heart does not hear, the eyes do not see, and the head does not think. I thought of you, but I did not see you. Neither did I see myself. And then the water told me…”

“What?” whispered Rin. 

Haru lifted his hand and brushed Rin’s cheek, up to Rin’s eyes, and there he moved his finger as if wiping away invisible tears. What was that supposed to mean? 

“And you,” Haru said, “you still haven’t told me either. The words you said back at the pool but I didn’t hear, repeat them for me.”

Rin bit his lower lip. Below, Haru was watching him with fondness, expectation, and an indulgent tranquility. 

“You can have my heart and body,” Rin said. Embarrassment and passion, like burning resin or melting wax, were dilating his veins. Like burning myrrh it was agreeable to speak of it again, yet also daunting. His face was probably red, too. Rin barely found the strength to utter sound by sound, word by word. “You can have my soul, body, and heart. All you need to do is ask. Everything is yours. That is what I said.”

Haru dragged him back into the pillows. He buried his forehead into Rin’s shoulder. “Of all the things I’ve loved…” he said and wrapped Rin with one hand.

Rin waited with his breath bated. Then he thought that it was enough; what he had heard was enough already. 

“You are the closest to my heart,” Haru whispered. 

Rin let the sentence wash through him, like ripples he let it echo across his mind and body. Could reality also be like this? Could he live in a world of this kind, inside a reality where Haru loved him? Could he? Was he allowed? Would it not disappear if he tried to hold onto it?

He clasped Haru in an embrace and kissed his hair, his cheek, and his mouth. For each kiss he gave, he received one in return. This was the reality he could hold onto. Rin smiled. Although he could fall asleep like this, he did not want to. Reality was sweeter than slumber. 

“Did our fathers do anything like this for the ritual?” he said. 

Haru lifted his head slightly. “Why would they?”

“I don't understand how this magic works,” said Rin.

“Me neither.” Haru sat.

“What do you mean?” said Rin, pulling himself up, as well. “Aren't you the Sha'ir?”

“Do you know how your legs work, and how your heart beats?” Haru said. “Do you know every detail? Or do you foremost know how to use them, and learn more of them from books and experience? Well, it is the same with me.” He looked away. “Yet from what I learned and from what I feel, it should be all right this time. If the soul is light, it doesn’t sink. No one should incur harm. I will not allow it.”

Was he worried? Did he fear for Rin?

“Is there anything I can do?” Rin said. “For you or for the other Marids? How can I make it go smoothly? How can I make amends?”

Haru shook his head. “A cherry tree may be planted in one day, but in that one day it will not bloom, so do not push its blossoms. Just do what you are already doing, little by little.”

“Little by little, but better?” Rin said.

Haru tilted his head. “Although Rayn could use the company, since he doesn’t join all the preparation rituals.” With a spark in his eyes, he added. “No, you can be in the company of all of them. All of us. Traditions must follow the reason behind them.” As if the thought crossed his mind for the first time, Haru whispered, “I am the Sha’ir. Now I am the Sha’ir. That is my responsibility.”

“I’m…I’m sorry for your burden,” Rin whispered. If the previous Sha’ir, Haru’s father, had not died prematurely, Haru would not need to torture himself with these responsibilities. Haru would be leading a life with more freedom. Of endless responsibilities Rin knew the taste too well. “I apologize not only in my name, but also for those who used my name before me.”

“I don’t care of those before you,” Haru said. “It is not a burden. I can be none other but myself.” He sank his head. “I see. I see now, Rin.” As he raised his head again, his eyes were shining. His fingers sought Rin’s. “It is what binds me to you and my tribe men, it is my connection to the world.” He squeezed Rin’s hand. “My magic…allows me the freedom to reach out.” He placed a light kiss on Rin’s lips. “Rather than constricting me, my body and my role allow me to act. Whilst I am the Sha’ir I can be free.”

Haru’s eyes were brilliant, shiny with moisture, but far from tears. Sha’irs didn’t cry.

A knock made Rin’s attention shoot toward the door. “Who is it?” he said.

“Only a lowly servant,” the voice said. 

It was a female voice, and Rin thought he recognized it. 

“My Prince called this lowly servant,” she said. “May this servant come in?”

Rin squeezed Haru’s hand. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Why don’t you call her in?” said Haru. He jumped from the bed and scooped up his clothes. 

Rin began to dress, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is inspired by this proverb:  
> Write the bad things that are done to you in sand, but write the good things that happen to you on a piece of marble.
> 
> As usual, I'm sorry for the mistakes in the fic.  
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Three more to go, unless something happens.


	16. Flower of Water, Blossom of Dunes

Dressing Haru back into his wet sirwal posed more difficulty than undressing him. Haru was too slow, and Rin’s fingers were too agitated for the task. 

“Leave it,” Rin whispered. He wrapped Haru with his jubba, as Haru’s clothes were one more wet and transparent than the other. 

Afterwards Rin put on his loincloth, so at least he wouldn’t be naked, and it wouldn’t be too obvious that he had lain with Haru.

“Come forth,” Rin called. 

“Ah,” he said then and flinched, for something had hit his back. It was only a cloth, a sirwal. 

“What?” said Rin, picking the sirwal that Haru had thrown. 

Haru’s cold, irritated gaze was glued onto him. It was also incensed with a hint of possessiveness, and that hint of possessiveness and jealousy Rin indulged. He put on the pants. 

The stains of water were still visible on where Haru had touched him earlier, and like a mark they winded up Rin’s thighs. 

A female servant entered. As expected, when she removed her veil, underneath there was Amameera’s face to greet them. 

“My Prince,” she said and closed the door.

The garments on the floor, their mismatched attire, the sheets darkened with lines of water, and Haru’s position on the bed, the way he tugged Rin’s open jubba on his chest; only someone extremely unobservant would not connect the cues. With one single gaze Rin knew that Amameera knew.

“We were,” he said,” we were only…”

Amameera cut him off. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Rin, but I needed to speak to you.” She walked to Haru and kneeled in front of him. “Is my Sha’ir well?” 

Haru replied with a small nod. 

“Good,” Ama said, the expression on her face one close to joy, but closer still to amusement. 

“Have you heard?” said Rin. “About the ritual.”

If he distracted her with other topics, she might forget to comment about the disarray in the chamber. 

Ama rose. “About how the water trial went? Would be difficult not to.”

“No,” said Rin. “About the new water ritual. Haru…the Sha’ir would try again, and I, too, would have him try. What is your counsel, then?””

“I see. I have no counsel today, only a guest,” said Ama, “one you will like to entertain with a visit, I think. Follow me.” She halted in the middle of the room. “Dress in something more presentable first, Rin.”

“I’m coming with you.” Little by little, on the bed Haru was edging closer to them. 

“With us? Mayhap it would be better if you remain here. It might be dangerous,” Ama said. 

Haru shrugged his shoulders. “All more the reason. I’m coming with Rin.”

He had made up his mind, and there would be no point trying to convince him otherwise. 

Rin called for the new servant. “Bring some clothes for the Sha’ir,” he ordered, “and for me.”

He took the first set of clothes from the boy’s hands. “This. This should do.” He glanced at Ama. “Look away.” 

“I can dress myself,” said Haru, yet stood nevertheless and let Rin unclothe him. It was easily done, a tug on the jubba, and it fell from Haru’s shoulders, down his arms, and onto floor.

“These are my clothes,” Rin said, picking a breechcloth and pair of pants that the servant was offering. 

“No, take the other sirwal,” said Haru. 

Rin grabbed another pair of pants. “Looks the same.”

“No.” Haru shook his head. “The type of seams is different, and I like this style better.” 

“These are my clothes, you know,” Rin repeated, wondering if Haru had always been paying this much attention to clothing in general, or only to Rin’s clothing, or perhaps to Rin himself. “Tsk,” he said, fighting the agitation that made his fingers tremble and his cheeks burn up. 

Still undressed and with every limb on display, Haru moved his hand, caressed Rin’s chin, and lifted Rin’s face.

“Haru,” Rin whispered. He touched the inner side of Haru’s thighs. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Amameera said, her voice going from calm to shrill. 

“I told you not to peek,” said Rin, but Ama was still facing them with her back. 

She let out a long sigh. “I don’t need to peek to hear you. Now be swift.” 

Haru dressed himself, and Rin did the same with the help of the servant boy.

As soon as Rin dismissed the servant, Amameera opened the door to the secret passage. She took one of the smaller lamps in Rin’s bedchamber and lit it. “It’s not polite to keep guests waiting.”

She led them across the narrow, dark corridors hidden between two walls. They were wide enough for only one person to walk at the time, and the air felt old and dusty.  
From behind, Haru’s hand touched Rin’s, and their fingers interlaced, first only two, and after a while they walked hand in hand. 

“Here,” said Ama. She put the lamp down and opened a small exit. All three scrambled through it toward the light.  
Rin knew where they were; outside the palace walls. He and Haru followed Amameera across the streets. 

One lone figure was awaiting them. “I began to think you were lying, or preparing a trap for me,” the woman said. Her entire body was enwrapped in brown fabric, her face was hidden with veils of same color, and not even her eyes were visible. 

“No offense intended,” said Ama, “but the same has crossed my mind about you.”

“Meerza,” the woman said. Her bow was too shallow to greet a Prince. “Is that not the Sha’ir?”

“So we are. And your name would be?” Rin said, releasing Haru’s hand to cross his arms.

“I am Dunyazad, dear Prince, sent as an envoy in the name of Queen Izdihaar of the Second City, Falaknaz. The Queen of Falaknaz sends her sincerest greetings with the hope of an auspicious agreement, but I’ve told you that already at the water ceremony, if we might call it so. My mistress is…my mistress will be most displeased to hear the water magic is not real.”

Was she indeed one of the delegates from the Western Cities? Her face had been covered during the ritual, as well, and she could be an impostor. Amameera thought the woman’s words might be true, however, otherwise Ama would not have led Rin and the Sha’ir here. 

“The water magic is real,” Haru said. 

“It’s hard to trust the sincerest greetings of a delegate who hides her face,” said Rin. “Reveal yourself if your intents are honest.”

“Would you ask of a woman to reveal herself?” said the envoy. 

“No,” said Rin, “I would ask it of an emissary and a negotiator.” 

Dunyazad huffed, but removed the veils from her head. Her eyes were green, a shade darker than Makeen’s, and they looked at Rin and Haru with distrust and curiosity. A lock of red hair escaped her kerchief. She was Ama’s age or close to it. 

She could have requested a formal audience instead of resorting to such unusual methods. Yet that she had resorted to such methods meant she was doing so either in secrecy, without the knowledge of the other diplomats, or this was a machination to make Rin believe just that. Rin recalled how the other two delegates treated her with distance—a shadow of Amameera’s experience with the Divan— and it made sense, perhaps, that the female emissary was forced to act on her own accord. Likely the Queen of Falaknaz had plans on her own. If this woman was who she claimed to be, she should have the Queen’s confidence. Mayhap she was one of the Queen’s sisters, for a sister may be close enough to the sovereign. Besides, this envoy, too, resembled the description of the Queen, the color of the eyes and hair and…

Rin had to use all his strength not to laugh out loud. His first thought was directed toward to the worth of the Queen as hostage, and the second to her worth as an ally and negotiator.  
Could it truly be? Had Amameera noticed? Had the Divan? 

In the tone of her voice and the demanding expression on her face, Rin recognized someone like him; someone who had grown up on giving orders. The two male emissaries did not shun her as Rin had thought until now, more likely they feared her.

If Rin had noticed, likewise uncle Jaleel must have. He was wont to underestimate the value of a learned woman, but even he would not be so imprudent to let one of the three western rulers pass in front of his nose unnoticed. Yet…even the Vizier was not infallible. Everyone was fallible, everyone prone to mistakes, not only Rin. 

Of course, Rin was not stupid enough to think the sky would rain gold or silver, yet like too much humility brought humiliations, too many doubts brought the wrong conclusion. 

“Did you not fear to meet us here unescorted?” Rin said. 

Dunyazad, or Izdihaar, rather, snorted. “Of course I did. Yet when the wind blows, sail with it. A ship that fears storms never sails.”

“Meerza,” said Amameera, “we should either move or conclude this quickly, as the guards will make rounds soon.” 

“Why are you here, then?” said Rin. “Did the Vizier not make an impression with his abilities as a host? Why do you seek me?”

“He makes an impression, but not the kind of impression I was looking for, sadly,” Dunyazad said. “The same, just as sadly, goes for you and the Sha’ir. Many stories I have…we have heard and read, and the reality never lives up to that, does it? It would be too much to hope for a man to command the waters like those heroes in the fairy tales.”

“No man can command water,” Haru said, his voice passionless and piqued at the same time. “The role of the Sha’ir is not and never was to command. One may ask, and the jinn may answer. One may give prayers and receive water. Yet one may never command it. If you try to command the spirits, they will forsake you. A rose of sand will become a rose of blood. If that is your intention, desist now, before you bring ruin to your people.”

“Spoken like a true Sha’ir, haven’t you?” said Dunyazad. She took several moments to contemplate Haru, Rin, and Amameera. “Why did the water jinn not respond to you, then?” 

“I watched but did not see,” said Haru. 

“See what?” Dunyazad made a step closer. “What should you have seen? Do you see it now? How do I know you’re not a fraud? The Marids are extinct.”

“I live,” Haru said. “When the water answers, it will be clear. But what you know or not has nothing to do with me. It has nothing to do with water. It has nothing to do with the jinn.”

Rin placed a hand on Haru’s shoulder to soothe the Sha’ir’s anger.

“Whether you want to be there and see, or whether you want to be somewhere else, this has nothing to do with me,” Haru said. “I will only perform the ritual. I do not command the water. It would be presumptuous of anyone to think ordering the water is possible. Try ordering the stars, see if they respond.” 

Rin looked down at his own slippers. With the tip of his left slipper he was touching Haru’s.  
He, too, had thought of water magic in the same terms as the Queen from the West. He, too, had yearned only for power. Now he yearned for Haru foremost. Even if Haru would fail and the entire world would say that it was worthless, Rin would still say that it was not. Certain things could not be gauged and judged with measures and weights as on the bazaar, for those were not the right measures and not the right weights. Certain things only a Sha’ir, a poet, a magician, could measure. Certain things only a Sha’ir, a maker, could explain. Only a Sha’ir could glimpse the soul, snatch it, and offer it again. Only a Sha’ir could do so with his verses, with his dances, with his mouth and hands and legs, with the living art inside him, and with the way all the living reacted to him in return.  
Again Rin felt drawn to him, to Haru, with the power of a sun and a moon colliding. Again he felt the quake in his heart and limb, and his heart and limb he would give to Haru and for him. He’d give his soul, if only his soul would be good enough. 

“Is that a riddle?” said Dunyazad. “You are the Sha’ir, yet you are not?” 

At that Rin could not contain his laugher. The emissary narrowed her eyes. She was not Dunyazad anymore, and neither the emissary; her indignation belonged to Izdihaar, Queen of Falaknaz.

“Forgive me,” said Rin. “Just like you I was confused not so long ago. Yet the answer is simple. The riddle is simple.”

“Do you take me for a fool, boy?” said the Queen. 

“Not at all, my mistress,” said Rin. “I know the curiosity in your gaze, and I know the slight you feel. I apologize for my insolence. Haru will perform the water ritual, and if you wish to see it, respond to the official summon.” He glanced at Haru to give him time to voice his possible dissent, but Haru did not appear to care. 

“I have one condition,” Rin said. 

“You’d give me conditions?” said the Queen. 

Rin sensed he was treading on slippery sand, and one word alone would be enough to send him to one side of the dune or the other. 

“I ask you humbly to intervene on my behalf and appear for the water ritual with your other companions and delegates,” he said.

“Do you think I have such power?” Izdihaar laughed, but not enough convincingly.

“You want a great display of power,” said Rin. “I want one in return. It seems fair, does it not? Since you sought me, I wish to conduct an honest negotiation with you. I came alone with the Sha’ir, and you came alone, as well. Let that mark our trust.” He kneeled as one would kneel in front of a Queen, or a spirit. 

“Then so it will be,” the Queen said. She bowed respectfully this time, as for a sultan, and covered her face with veils. “You better show something worth seeing, at least, if not something worth using, or I may consider that a slight upon my mi…upon myself. I have been taught to revere the spirits, but I will play no fool for a human, especially not for a man.” 

“Are you not running too fast, all of you?” said Amameera, raising one hand in a gentle motion. “The Sha’ir does not think in terms of kings and queens. He thinks in terms of water. And my Meerza…”

“Hush now,” said the Queen. “I’ve made a decision, and I don’t need more convincing. Send your call, Prince, and I will make sure the delegates will answer. If you follow the water, then we may find a common path, for the way of water is also the one I walk.” 

Haru made a hint with his head, a movement too small to be called bow. “Then may the water spirits guide you.”

“We should disperse, Meerza, lest we will be seen,” said Amameera, veiling her countenance, as well. “Let me aid you,” she said to the Queen. 

Before leaving, she slipped a paper into Rin’s hands. 

Rin returned with Haru to the passageway, where the lamp was still illuminating the walls. 

“I do not wish to be parted from you,” Rin whispered, leading Haru by the hand. 

“Then don’t be,” said Haru. 

Rin halted, placed the lamp on the ground, and turned around. 

In the narrow, constricting passage, their bodies closed all the distance between them. Haru’s back was plastered to the wall, and if Rin moved back only slightly, he touched the wall behind his own back, too. 

“If I, if we fail again?” said Haru. The lamp traced unusual shadows on his face, yet his countenance was not any less alluring for it. 

As strange as it was, the notion of failure did not worry Rin. Apart from the heat that Haru exhaled, apart from the exhilarating skin that touched his abdomen and arms, Rin was sober. His mind was quick. He found himself grinning. “I would prefer the water to accede to our entireties as soon as possible, of course, but that is not for us to decide anymore. We must only do what we can do. If we fail, then we try again until we succeed, be it the tenth, the hundredth, the thousandth, or the ten thousandth time. As Rayn said, water will not cease to be water. If anyone will try to do you ill for the lack of immediate success, I will protect you with all I have.”

With eyes heavy-lidded, Haru sought Rin’s lips. At least here no one would interrupt their kisses. If their hips swayed and buckled, and if their fingers caressed their bodies and rubbed, nobody would knock. 

As Rin had wished time ago, the day when he had pushed Haru against the walls in Alamas, thus the walls had opened and hidden them inside. In these aged, forgotten passages, in this dust existed a world for only the two of them. If there was a melody Rin could listen every day, that melody was Haru’s voice and suspires, the brushes of Haru’s clothes and skin, the wet clicks of his tongue. 

They returned in dark, groping their way by the walls, for the lamp had gone out. 

Rin opened the entrance to the Marids’ chamber. 

 

“Ghosts,” Makeen said and grabbed the nearest book to cover his face. “Ghosts.” He threw the book into Rin. 

“Do we look like ghosts to you?” Rin said and picked up the book. “You sound like that new servant of mine.” He brushed the dust off his shoulders. “You’d make a nice pair.”

“Little Haru, where were you?” said Nagi and ran closer. He stomped with his feet. “We’ve been worried, do you know how worried we were?” He hit Haru’s chest with his fists. 

“Nagi,” said Rayn, grabbing him by the arm pulling him back. 

“We were worried,” Nagi screamed. With a hand he hid his eyes. 

“Are you all right, Haru?” said Makeen. The lines on his brow did not disappear even when he smiled. Outside, the night had fallen. 

“Yes,” Haru whispered, looking from one Marid to the next. 

“As Nagi told you,” said Rayn, tousling Nagi’s hair, “we were very concerned about your disappearance.”

“I was only doing what I felt I needed to for my preparations,” said Haru. “Were you waiting and searching all this time?” 

Makeen made a nod. “We were.”

“I’m sorry,” said Haru. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Rin said. “I didn’t even think about…” 

“You didn’t even think about us, is that so?” Nagi dashed forward and hit Rin, too. “Neither of you. And look at you, you’re all dirty.” He began dusting Rin’s and Haru’s clothes, and meanwhile tears began running down his cheek. “Look what you did,” he whispered. “Why did you do this?” At last he clutched Haru with his arms. 

“There is no need to cry.” Rayn placed his hands on Nagi and Haru, and hugged them both. 

“I’m sorry,” Haru whispered. 

“As long as you understand, Haru,” said Makeen. He, too, embraced the Marids, and then pulled Rin closer, into a group embrace as well. Rin closed his eyes.

As punishment, Nagi made Rin and Haru carry him on their back, and while he had tired of Haru in a reasonable time, it appeared such good sense would not be granted in Rin’s case.

“I’m not a horse,” said Rin. 

“Of course not,” said Nagi, covering Rin’s eyes. “You can be a camel, a dromedary, a donkey. Yes, you’re a donkey.”

“I’m not a donkey,” Rin said, “and I can’t see. We’ll fall.” 

“Yes, you are,” Nagi giggled and pulled at Rin’s ears. “No, we won’t. Toward the door, my mighty little donkey. Forward.”

Childish brat. For more than an instant Rin pondered if he should simply throw Nagi on the ground. He pondered on it every instant, truth be told. Yet at the same time as Nagi was tiresome and childish, he also had given Rin a reason, a way to redeem himself and to remain with the Marids now, and for such reason Rin decided to suffer the humiliation. If for nothing else, questioning the motives of everyone, just as the Divan had unwittingly taught him, meant not only that he could discover hidden poison in apparent kindness, but also he could see hidden kindness in apparent debasement. 

At last Gohar came in, and it turned out Rin had to comfort her, as well, for the Marids had informed her of Rin’s and Haru’s disappearance but not of their return. 

“As long as you don’t call me a donkey.” Rin sighed. “I’ll make up for it.” 

Luckily Gohar didn’t have the ambition to shame Rin any further. 

“If brother is fine, then that is all I need,” she said. 

With the Marids and Gohar, Rin talked about the water ritual, and with Rayn he spoke at length about the qanat and the oasis, about the progress of the repairs. He could see with clarity. Things and ideas that had eluded him before he could connect easily now. What Rayn had missed, Rin noticed and mentioned. 

“That’s because I still haven’t received any maps from the Pauper’s End,” said Rayn. “Some of my calculations are bound to be wrong, because I don’t have the knowledge of all the variables in the problem.”

He was correct. Amameera had not given any maps or diagrams about the canals under the Broken End. Had her men not have the time to complete any sketches, or had Ama forgotten? 

Rin read the paper Ama had given him. It relayed information from Alamas, of the meeting between Aarif and Haman, the merchant with great wealth and no titles, gossips from the Tiger’s Tail, which Amameera had probably received from Ghoro, and several suppositions about the links in the water trade. Nothing about the qanat. Well, it was not important now. He’d have to ask Amameera again after the water ritual, and he would have to meet with his palace spies, too. What else? The report from the borders had been delayed, and he’d have to find out what had happened with the bandits. Yet the water ritual was first. 

“I’ll write the invites for the water ritual,” Rin said. He walked to the door and yelled across the corridor, “Servant, servant boy. You there, fetch my servant boy.”

“Not to chastise Meerza…Rin,” said Rayn, but if you speak to a human, it would be appropriate to call him by his or her name. People are not objects.” 

Rin felt a twitch under his left eye. “Servant boy,” he called.

He had read the servant’s name in the investigation report before choosing him for the post. He had read the name of the servant, of the servant’s father, and the names of at least fifty ancestors, yet the servant did not deserve to be called by name yet. Why should Rin remember it? The boy had done nothing to deserve it. Rayn simply didn’t understand.

The servant came running in. “Yes, yes, august Prince, here I am. Did you call? Did you call?” 

“You,” said Rin, and the boy began shaking. “What is your name?”

“Safa, it is Safa, august Prince.”

“Safa!” said Rin, his eyes still twitching. “Stop that. Stop shaking. And bring me something to write formal letters. Now.” 

As the boy had returned with the papers and utensils, Rin said, “Safa!”

“Yes?”

“You did well.” He pinched the servant’s cheek. “Now continue doing well. Safa.”

Safa bowed. “Yes, august Prince.” 

Rin turned triumphantly to Rayn. “Well?” 

“Khm, khm,” Rayn mumbled. “Perhaps the practical implementation needs more time than the theory behind it.”

Rin folded his arms. “What do you mean? I did well.”

From the other side of the chamber came Nagi, laughing. “Little Rin did well. You did well, little donkey.” 

“Stop that,” Rin said, his anger coiling up again, waiting to burst. 

“Don’t be angry.” Nagi pressed a warm kiss on Rin’s cheek. “You did well.”

“I know I did well,” Rin said, sitting down on a sofa.

He was changing, yet precisely that was daunting. It was a rush too swift for him to follow consciously at times, like a ride on a horse less docile than Ateefa. At high speed he was riding a horse dark and scary, riding his fears and hopes across the desert toward water. For now he was the rider, yet if he were to make a wrong move, or forget himself for a single blink, the horse would throw him back into the sand, bitter anger, and despair.

As Haru had said, a cherry tree could not bloom in one single day. Yet it would be nice if it could. Would be nice. 

 

In four day’s time, Nizamat and Safa helped him dress his best robes. He had chosen one in scarlet and gold this time, one that matched in color the dress Gohar would don. No headwear this time. 

“The councilors didn’t seem keen on the idea of another ritual,” Nizamat said. “What if they refuse to partake?”

“They will partake,” said Rin. 

Nizamat fastened to Rin’s ears the ornaments that Safa had handed to him. “Has Meerza already done something to assure their presence?” said Nizamat. 

“You could say so,” Rin said without moving his head. 

“As I’ve expected of Meerza,” Nizamat whispered. “It will go all right this time, I’m sure.”

Rin smiled. “So am I.”

 

The throng of unbelieving people stood in equal numbers as the last time, the nawabzada, the delegates, and the servants. The sun had already sunken under the darkness of the eve. Torches flickered in the breeze. Never perhaps had Rin’s favorite garden seen such a number of people at once. Rin had ordered more guards to be present.

He noticed Haru in the crowd as soon as he appeared.  
Instead of lavish garments, Haru wore the ragged clothes in which the guards had brought him before Rin time and time ago. 

One guard intended to stop him, but Rin dashed toward them. “That is the Sha’ir,” he called. 

The guard bowed. A circle around them emptied. 

“I’ve told you we are the Marids,” Nagi said to the guards. 

“What is this?” Rin said. “Are you all right? Did anything happen?”

Haru shrugged. “I am what I am. I’ve spent a lot of time consulting the water and choosing my answer, and this is what I have decided upon. Let no appearance distract you from the truth within.”  
His posture revealed composure and his face the opposite. “The last time you’ve seen the ugliness, this time let me show you the beauty of my soul, and the beauty of yours. Let me show you a sight no man has seen before. Fear not. Spread your arms like the boughs of a cherry tree, and I will be the blossom on your fingertips.”

Rin shook his head, and before the light in Haru’s eyes would die, he said quickly, “You are not the blossom, you are my roots and every juice of my body. You are my water.”

The crowd parted for them. 

Makeen and Rayn embraced Haru, and Nagi spread his arms and jumped on all three.

“Do well, Haru,” Makeen said. 

“Do your best, little Haru,” Nagi said and pushed Haru toward the pool. 

Haru sought Rin’s eyes.

In response Rin made a nod. “Do as your heart wishes.” 

Haru walked down the steps on the side of the pool where the water was shallow. On the last step, he spoke the same words as during the previous water ritual.

“The sun and moon in heaven be witness to my troth. The spirits of the oceans bless this land.  
Marids I beseech you,” he said. “On the behest of Rin, my friend, I call upon you.”

His next words turned to murmurs and whispers. The sand rose fell gently from his palm into the water. 

He stepped down and knelt, letting the water submerge his legs. His hands picked up the sand rose. 

‘Trust his words,’ thought Rin, ‘trust the warmth of his hands.’

With more whispers, Haru laid the rose into the water again. 

Rin felt as though a rose of ice were creeping from his toes up. Its thorns were sinking into his thighs and hips, chilling every bit of his flesh. Frosty stems were climbing across his ribs and winding round his spine. Thorns embraced Rin’s stomach and squeezed his chest until he could breathe no more. His legs and arms were paralyzed. His eyes saw only Haru. 

He longed to walk into the water as well, take Haru by the hand, and stay by him. 

Haru stood and turned to face Rin. 

The water rippled around his knees, coyly at first it rustled and sighed, and then it rose up like brilliant and transparent veils.

His arms opened with elegance, bold as the birds that swept across the sky. His feet moved as the wind across the dunes, free yet precise as a scribe tracing sacred verses in ink, and the sides of his hips jutted up and down, wild as the dancers in the dusty market place. Rougher his hands grew with every move, sharper and quicker, as if chasing the rhythm of a silent drum. His fingers opened and closed, swam on the waves of air as though they held the threads to everything that once was and everything that once will be. As if Haru held the whole world in his hands, thus he moved, and if not the world, then at least he held Rin’s heart.  
Rin gripped himself over the middle of his chest, feeling the throbs within. Thump thump. Lub dub. His heartbeat was following Haru’s limbs, or perhaps Haru’s body was following Rin’s heartbeat. Rin could not tell which was truer.  
Drops of water danced and leaped like jewels stringed on gossamer, like butterflies on spider webs. Haru weaved them into a fabric of water, into large waves and silvery gushes. 

He spoke and water listened.  
His whispers echoed with the sound of waterdrops. After his, a thousand other voices sang and spoke in quiet murmurs. The voices of the water spirits. 

A wave of suspense and fever washed Rin whole, rose over his head, and drowned him. He was reed in wind and water, and Haru was water and wind. He was sand, and Haru was the oasis. He was wind, and Haru was a black bird, infiltrating and pervading Rin’s essence with ease, playing with and along it. 

Haru’s abdomen contracted, his shoulders drew together, his back curved forward, and his head sank. Next he opened up, stood upright like a cypress, and extended his arms to the sides like wings. With hands upraised he touched the heavens. Now he danced not as a man in the marble halls or dusty streets. Instead he was like a dolphin in the seas, like a dolphin from travelers’ stories. Careless and bound, greedy and kind, cold and covetous. Every expression rushed in the gestures of his water-webbed fingers. Dolphins followed ships, grinning with their whistling sounds, they importuned swimmers, and saved drowning sailors from certain death.  
His hips were swinging up and down like scales, never in balance. They were weighing grain against sand, carob seeds against gold, riches against poverty, water against sand, and feathers against hearts. Which was lighter and which heavier?  
From judge to defendant, so Haru’s eyes grazed across Rin’s face. His mouth whispered, and from it Rin read, ‘Have you played me true or have you played me false? Tell me your truth.’ 

If Haru weighed Rin’s heart, doubtless it would be heavier than rock. His heart was marble and blood. His heart was a burning block of ice. He felt cold. The ice briar in his chest blossomed. He wished to cry, for he would never be close enough to Haru, never his equal. 

Haru’s feet rose above the water level, and he walked upon it as a ghost would tread upon a dreamland, or as a soul would cross the hair-thin span from hell to heaven. Sheets of translucent liquid enveloped him like celestial clothes, like heavenly garment made of nightfall and shining stars and diamonds and every light in Alamas. Then the water peeled off, unfolding petal by petal, dividing jet by jet, and unsealing drop by drop. It opened like a crest, and air bubbles etched a patterned lace into the flimsy water layers. Water drops undulated and glimmered like gems on silk.

Was this the magic of Marids?  
However other Marids danced, the charm of those hands and eyes belonged to Haru and to no one else. 

Inside Rin something thawed. Haru was Haru. Sha’ir he was and Marid. He was friend, traveler, prince, and companion. All those were fragments that covered his being, as a smile or a frown may cover the same face, as turquoise and yellow scales may cover a beautiful fish. A creature of water and salt, a creature of sand and clay. Not an instrument of power, and if instrument he had to be, he was an instrument of life. Son of marids, a man of flesh and blood. Lover. 

Haru glanced at Rin. He extended his arm, and his fist opened slowly, finger by finger. 

“Come,” his mouth said without voice.

And Rin went. He stepped into the water, and the water held his weight like a bridge. It folded softly like a carpet and pushed his feet forward. He treaded on water. 

One drop on his cheek and another on his shoulder, and a dozen more fell on his body. They were rising from the pool and trickling across the air. Rin cupped one hand, watching water besprinkle his palm and his wrist. In his palm, drops gathered into a tiny pool. Like rain. Rain raddled his hair and tapped gently on his brow as if to weave a jeweled turban of soft silk. 

The water trembled, or perhaps the earth underneath did. Among the rumbles somewhere underground, the water in the nearest fountains shot up, or so Rin’s gathered from the corners of his vision. He heard people cry out in surprise, but his eyes he could not tear from Haru, because Haru was waiting.

Their hands locked. 

Haru traced the skin above Rin’s heart, as if drawing rose petals upon it. A brush of his nails opened way for a single drop of blood. Kneeling in front of Rin, he opened his mouth as if to pluck the flower with his lips, and kissed it. 

He smiled. Water soared around them and covered everything. The world was water.

Currents separated them, and whirls tossed Rin’s body about. He remembered his dream where sand waves had drowned Haru and swallowed him up. 

No!

Haru was floating slowly downwards, into the darkness, his body as motionless and beautiful as a statue. For several moments it seemed to him that Haru possessed not legs, but a tail of a fish or a similar creature, like a merman. 

Gathering all his strengths, Rin splashed forward. Only then he saw that his legs were a long, grey tail.  
He fought the eddies that grabbed at his feet…his tail, and fought the streams that carried his body away. Fast, fast was his new body, and it did not want for air. Rin stretched his arm as far as he could. He grabbed Haru’s hand, and slowly Haru opened his eyes. 

‘You’re alive,’ Rin wanted to say, but in the water he could not, thus he swam closer, embraced Haru, and kissed him on the lips. With their arms locked they floated in this universe of water. 

‘Where are we?’ Rin thought.

“I don’t know,” Haru said without moving his lips. 

Sparks of light passed them by. A white flower rose from the dark. Then another. A flower silver and blue was swinging in the waters. A flower red and scarlet was curving with the current. A flower green and yellow shook. A flower with purple petals opened. An orange flower joined. All around them, water budded with bright colors, like a garden or a treetop in blossom. Amidst them swayed the rock rose, the siren's flower, the blossom of dunes, with petals of every color. 

“Of water you came and left us for the sand,” said a voice. 

Rin looked around, but he could not find its owner. He noticed their tails changed back into human legs.

“You left, children of our daughters, children of our sons,” the voice continued, “but water you will carry inside until the end of your days, for your essence was once made of water. For your essence and your soul are water. Through water in all eons we are one. The sands guard water in their bosom, and people guard water beneath their skin.”

“Give your blessing to this land and its people,” said Haru, holding firmly onto Rin. “In all eons we are one, for water binds us. We are of water, but look kindly upon us, for we are also of sand, and what we lost of water, let us gain through the tears of your mercy. I give you the heart of this land in return, and, lo, in his heart his soul is made of water, too. Lo, I weighed his soul, and it is as light as water.” Haru’s fingers dug into Rin’s skin. “Take his soul, but then return it back to me, for it is the dearest thing I hold.” 

From his toes to his fingers and the crown of his head, Rin shivered with cold and heat. His heart was beating wildly, as if instead of two ventricles, it now had three, one for the fresh blood, one for the blood of past, of father and those before him, and one for pure water. 

“Guard our water well,” echoed the voice. 

‘Haru,’ thought Rin, and in return Haru whispered Rin’s name. 

A water current pushed them up, nestled as they were one to the other, and the flowers closed and vanished. Water swirled like a hand of a jinni, and gently it dragged them down until their feet touched ground. 

Turbid, angry waves ran from them in all direction, and the water surface opened for them. Finally the waters abated. 

Above Rin the quarter moon was shining gently from the firmament, accompanied by an entourage of stars. He could stand and touch the bottom of the pool with his feet. He was in his gardens with Haru in his arms. 

“It is done,” whispered Haru.

People stood with their mouth open.

Rin heard the bewilderment in their voices, sounds of awe and surprise. 

“How is that possible?”

People fell on their knees. 

“The power of the marids.”

“The Marid tribe has returned.”

They extended their arms over their heads.

The royal uncles were white as ghosts. 

“Blessed be the spirits, blessed be our sultan.”

Rin heard and did not care. 

With Haru’s arm draped around him and Haru’s face leaning on his shoulders, he needed nothing else. His hand supported Haru’s chest.

“Your power is far greater than mine,” he whispered into Haru’s ear. 

Haru shook his head. His nose tickled Rin’s ear. “No, only different.”

 

“Haru, are you all right?” called Little Nagi and Rayn and Makeen, one after another.

“Rin,” called Gohar.

“Crown Prince,” said Nizamat, bowing on his knees, and Safa next to him. 

Seyjur was also kneeling. 

There was Ghorozang on his knees, as well, and the delegates. Rin’s uncles followed the rest of the crowd, but doubtless they would not be so easily dissuaded from their plans. 

“All that I wanted, but most of all I wanted you, Haru,” whispered Rin and helped Haru walk. “And you, did you get what you wanted?”

“I don’t know,” said Haru, but his voice was low and thin and sweet. Rin thought that would be all, but Haru continued. “I wanted to walk and swim abreast with you as equals,” said Haru. “I wanted to offer your soul to the marids. But I want more. I want it for myself. I want you for myself.”

His hand clasped Rin’s jubba and brought Rin’s head closer still. “I’ve heard you long before. The water told me during the first ritual, it told me you were crying. And then you did, just as the water said. I’ve seen you. A world where we can live side by side. And water, there was water and you in it.”

In reply Rin kissed Haru on the forehead, the way Marid tribe men did. 

The Marids ran to them as soon as Rin stepped out of the pool with Haru. They embraced both Haru and Rin, and helped them sit. 

“You did it, we did it,” said Nagi. 

“Never in my life have I seen anything as beautiful,” said Rayn, his eyes close to tears. 

“We have succeeded, Haru.” Makeen released Haru for a moment to hug Rin. “Rin, you did it, you learned.”

Rin embraced Makeen, as well, and cried, cried without restraints. He could not speak.  
He was not alone anymore. More than the crown, the nearness of friends, of Haru and everyone else, Makeen, Nagi, and Rayn, stirred his emotions. In his friends he recognized the colors of the siren’s flowers, the blossoms he had seen in water. More yet than that the sight in the water, the friends moved him. He understood what Haru meant, why the siren’s flower was something intangible, not an object, why it blossomed between Haru and Rin and the Marids. As it had crossed his mind after a conversation with Rayn, now Rin felt it again. The differences between them, between him, Haru, and the other Marids were like the differences between legs and arms and heart. There were no useless parts. Together they were what one alone could never be.

“Wait,” said Nagi. “I think Little Haru is…” 

Haru’s eyes were closing. In a similar way he had looked before losing consciousness in the pool, the first day he and Rin had reencountered. 

“Haru,” said Rin. The support of his shoulders and hands was not enough. “Haru.”

He called for Gohar and Nizamat to take care of the guests.  
With Makeen he carried Haru into the chambers, and as they passed the delegates, Rin made a small nod to the Queen. 

“I feared it would be so,” said Makeen. “That’s why I said to be careful. Magic consumes great amounts of energy.”

Rin sat on the bed and brushed Haru’s hair. “Will he be all right?” 

“I think so,” Rayn said. “From the knowledge I have on the subject, a relapse as this one is a quite an ordinary thing.”

Rin sighed. Would Haru sleep again for three days? 

“Yes,” said Nagi, lying on the sofa. “We can only wait for little Haru to wake again.”

“You could have told me,” Rin said. 

“Meerza, here you are,” Safa called from the door. “There is a messenger for you. He asks to be seen by either august Meerza or the Marid scholar.” 

“I see,” said Rayn. “Is it a messenger from the oasis? I instructed the guards at the oasis and at fourteen different points in Alamas to alert either me or you should there be any change in the water level. Or any change at all.”

The man was one of the guards from the southern part of Alamas, and he reported that one fountain and two wells were full with water, while they had not been before.

“I knew it.” Rayn sprinted to his maps and began tracing lines and circles, murmuring to himself all the while. 

“Does that mean Haru’s ritual affected the oasis?” said Rin.

“Shhh, not now,” Rayn said. 

Rin waited thus by Haru’s bed, holding Haru’s hand, while the reports kept coming in, and Rayn ran and scrabbled on his papers with greater exhilaration and speed. 

Gohar came to whisper her congratulations and offer support, but eventually she returned to her own bedchamber. Haru was still sleeping, at least this time more serenely, without tossing and turning as the first time, without the rashes on his skin.

Rin rubbed his eyes to keep them open. 

Makeen patted him on the back. “You should go to rest, either in your chambers, or here.”

“Yes,” Rin said, but felt no inclination at all to move.

“Don’t make a face like that,” Nagi said, getting up from the sofa, “or you’ll get wrinkles.” He touched the spot between Rin’s eyebrows. “Here. And Here. Trust Little Haru, and you won’t have wrinkles.”

A few days ago, Nagi had been the one not to trust Haru, and worry instead, but it would do no good to repeat that now. Rin nodded and walked back to his own bedchamber. Perhaps Haru would wake up the next day. Once Rin would wake up, Haru might already be waiting. 

Three knocks came from the wall. Rin hurried to the secret door. “Haru,” he said and opened it. 

Out came Amameera, and it was clear she had not come to offer congratulations. She pressed her hands to one side of her ribs, and it appeared that she had troubles walking.

“What happened?” said Rin. “Are you wounded? The Queen? Queen Izdihaar, did she do this? Did she betray us?”

“If only,” Ama squeezed out through her teeth. “Help me walk, for I think the wounds have reopened as I ran. You are in grave danger, I fear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Thank you for reading, and sorry for any mistakes in the fic. 
> 
> 2\. The next chapter will be a bit longer, so it might also take a teeny bit longer than usual to finish it.
> 
> 3\. Izdihaar was supposed to appear sooner, but Rin and Haru were too busy with themselves for that.


	17. Agents of Change

Rin helped her sit down on the sofa. 

“Do you need aid?” he said. “What has happened? What do you mean by grave danger?” 

“Well,” said Ama, motioning to Rin to give her some water, “you have jostled the scorpions out of their shite with the ceremony, and frightened the gazelles more than little.” She pulled the veil from her face, revealing a smile tinted with pain and contempt.

Rin filled a beaker and handed it to her, and Ama drank. 

“Let me call the royal physician for your wounds,” said Rin. 

“No need. They’ve been tended to,” she said. “I’ve just been running, so it can’t be helped.” The expression on her face turned austere, without a trace of softness. “Rin, they plan to kill you. On the morrow.”

“Who?” Rin said. He sat back on his cushions, took the beaker from Ama’s hands and poured more water for himself. Although he had been tired, the prospect of danger had already snatched his mind and limbs from the lure of slumber. In the palace, the threats never ceased. He had neglected them, and they had come back to haunt him. “The Vizier?” said Rin. “Is the Queen of Falaknaz involved, or the other delegates? Yet the water ritual was successful.”

Amameera took her cup and sipped from it again. “So it was. Precisely because of that the Scorpion had joined the Gazelle and the Yellow Beetle. As we have feared, so it has finally happened.”

“The Vizier did?” said Rin. “Uncle Jaleel did?” 

So it had happened. The perennial opponent was now foeman. Uncle Jaleel, the unwilling ally and Rin’s protector only by circumstance, had now wholly turned enemy. Blood ties could not subdue ambitions, such was the reality, and the ambitions of the uncles conflicted with Rin’s. Although blood could never be water, what Sarimah needed was water, not blood. It was not a difficult choice for Rin to make. 

Jaleel and Aarif would never change. One would offer them water, and they would think it too plain. For each drop of water they’d receive, they would lament it was not pearls in gold. The entire world knew that when water was available one didn’t need to clean with sand, yet rather than with water, the uncles would wash with gold. That would never change. It was too late for negotiations. What would father do? Did it matter? He was dead now. 

In the middle of two extremes, father’s ideals and the Divan’s avarice, Rin saw why he should not pursue either, for both ways were noxious. Instead he should strive toward a balance. 

Amameera put a finger to her lips and continued in whispers. “The Springy Gazelle and the Scorpion should be already outside, in Alamas, as we speak. It would be good to catch them before they return.  
The Scorpion would have been content to rule through you, I think, and since he cannot, he changed his plans.” She touched below the side of her ribs through her clothes, verifying her wounds. In pain she exhaled. “Before the dawn rises, while the city sleeps, there will be an insurrection against the false ruler. Against you. The Vizier will advocate you to remain in the palace for your own safety, so I found out. While there is unrest in the streets and your troops smother it, they will try to murder you. Here in the palace they will take your head and proclaim you coward. They will proclaim you son of the cursed sultan. Likely they mean to keep Haru and use him for his magic, but for you they have no more use.”

It made sense, but it was terrifying to hear nevertheless. Rin tried to take himself out of the equation, to see as a ruler would and not as a victim. “What about the rest of the Divan, do you know?”

Amameera shook her head. “No.”

“How many men will take to arms for the Vizier, then?” 

Ama let out a long sigh. “I only know they have a band of hirelings from the Western Cities. If you count in the Vizier’s personal troops, and those of the lords who favor him, that would make several thousand men. Four thousand units, if not more. Whilst there have been sightings of mercenaries from the Western Union in Alamas, I did not manage to estimate their numbers, for they dress as men from Sarimah.  
“Perhaps the Vizier plans to start a mutiny in other cities as well, now that he has chosen a more direct assault on the throne. He might have persuaded other Beys to follow his lead. This is the snake you need to kill, and it’s important that you crush its head before it bites. The body will die with it as well. If the city gate opens to the reinforcement of the vassal lords and mayhap the Western Cities, it will be too late.” 

“Probably some of them will follow the Vizier’s lead, but five thousand appears too large a number.” said Rin, changing his sitting position and finding none comfortable enough. “Still, this will be no easy task.” 

“As the proverb goes, Rin,” said Ama, “the hardest the problem becomes the closer it is to be solved. Tonight is your chance to solve it once and for all.”

“Do you think uncle Mummar will join the revolt against me in the east, should it begin?” Rin said. The general Mummar had withdrawn to the southeast border shortly after father’s death. There he had lived and sent petitions to be exempt from his post, or at least demoted to a simple soldier, but the Divan and Rin had not granted his wish yet. Now it would be anyone’s guess what Mummar would do.

Rin grinned. “You know what I realized? I have too many uncles.”

“I fear only they have been preparing this assault for a long time,” said Ama.

“No,” said Rin. The details Ama had provided allowed him to immerse himself in the scenario without fears. The numbers and the possibilities detracted him from dwelling on his vulnerability for too long. “If they plan to begin before the dawn, it’s because they need the advantage of night. Against an unprepared opponent, even a smaller army can wreak havoc. The mercenaries from the Western Cities must be a decoy, an element of confusion, while the actual group is comprised of men of Alamas, who know the city and how it works. What you said, that they plan to murder me in an unguarded palace, also points to a smaller team. Indeed, there are always traitors in the palace. I wonder if there’s a way to lead them into a trap.” 

“There is no time for traps.” Amameera passed the cup to Rin, and Rin put it on the ground without drinking. “Don’t you understand?” she said. “You have less than half a night at your disposal. Kill the head of your enemy, and the body will rot.”

“No, I understand well,” Rin said. At least that was how he felt in his guts. “My uncles didn’t expect to see the water magic work, so their plans must not be meticulously prepared. This must have been a vague back up plan, now hastily adjusted to the fact that I didn’t fail tonight. Haru didn’t fail.” 

Ama clicked her tongue. “You are too confident, too reckless. If they move so swiftly, they are likely well prepared. You should avoid a full-blown battle.”

“I’m not confident, only reasonable,” Rin said. Amameera may have known the Vizier, but the same was true for Rin. “There must be less than three thousand men ready to attack from within in the city. Now about your wounds, tell me who and how inflicted them.”

Instead of answering, Amameera touched the side of her ribs again. “I must apologize to you, my Prince. I endangered your life before.”

“How so?”

“There was a snake hidden among my midst, too, a traitor. I didn't know.” She sank her head. “I’ve led him to you the day we met at the Tiger’s Tail. At least my men saved you. It was providential I asked Zeb to follow and protect you. ”

“A spy?” Rin said. “And now that spy is?”

“Dead, of course. I wrung that traitorous snake’s head,” she said with a disdaining snort. “Snakes and vermin everywhere.”

“Zeb is…” said Rin. This was probably the man who had warned Rin and the Marids about the ambush. “Is he alive?”  
With shame Rin realized that he hadn’t asked Amameera about the helper, and neither had he spared much thought on the man’s wellbeing. 

“He is,” said Ama and waited for Rin to speak again. 

Rin took the lingering silence as an opportunity to sort through the new information, to compare the pieces and see which matched.

“The pigeon catcher,” he said, “was on your side, then?”

“Yes,” said Ama. “One can always give too much trust, it seems. That slithering son of a camel was double-crossing me, and besides following my orders, he was also working for others. Not anymore. Don’t worry, I made him sing. You’d be surprised how nicely a snake can sing.” She looked toward the window, into the night that waited outside. “What men I have, I promise they will fight alongside you if we move now. You will fight, will you not? To end this reign of chaos and drought. You will not have a better chance in your entire life. I know where the Vizier and the others meet and plot. You can outmatch them in speed and wit. You can take them by surprise. Use their own arrow and cast it against them.” 

“Wait,” Rin said. The knowledge he had was not enough, and the wrong amount of prudence might doom him, Haru, Gohar, the Marids, and Sarimah. “Who did your spy work for?” 

“You won’t be surprised, I reckon,” said Ama. “For the Yellow Beetle. I’ve had a spy of my own in his household, but since my plans were known to the Beetle, I’ve been led on the wrong path.”

Haman, the Yellow Beetle, was called sometimes the merchant prince; not a prince of blood but of gold. Rin and Ama called him as the Yellow Beetle for this same reason, his non-noble origins and his riches. Like a dung beetle he was low and like a dung beetle he was strong, since gold and water equaled power. 

“The mercenaries, they could work under the Beetle’s orders,” said Rin. “If the delegates of the Western Cities are not involved, this matter could be more easily solved. What shall we do with all this vermin, then?”

“I do not have enough information about the delegates, and my source is the same as yours—the Western Queen. As for the Beetle, it will not matter to him if he receives his reward from the Vizier or from you. It is not a moral obligation that binds him to the Divan, and if you find a way to sate his appetites, he will follow you. Since he has riches, he will want titles and noble brides. Though titles and posts aren’t costly to give at first, if the man to hold them is either greedy or stupid, or, spirits forbid, both, this will be an expensive trade for you.”

Rin bit his lips. “There is also the option to crush him with force and confiscate his belongings on grounds of treason.”

“Do you have this force?” Ama rubbed her brow. “I am not sure my men will be enough. If your army is not ready by the dawn, then you do not have it.”

“We shall see immediately if I have the force,” Rin said and called for Safa. “Send a cordial invite to Sejyur Basha,” he said to the servant. “He is to come to my chambers immediately. And bring wine, a lot of it, for we will celebrate the success of the water ritual. I will take it as an offense if he refuses my wine. Do you understand? Call Nizamat, as well. It’s time for celebration.”

“Yes, august Meerza.” Safa ran out of the chamber. 

Amameera said, “Celebrate with wine? It is not… I see, I hope it will work as a pretense.”

Rin paced up and down his chamber. What he had always dreaded and expected at the same time, precisely that thing was about to pass. If he could speak with Haru…no, only sensing his presence would be enough, but Haru was asleep. Haru had done his part, now it was Rin’s turn.

“One last thing,” Rin said. “Tell me, why do you work for me?” 

“What are you saying, Rin?” Amameera laughed, but then grabbed herself below her chest. “Between you and the Vizier the choice is clear. I see your growth and the potential you still haven’t reached, not to mention that I care for you.”

“Why?” 

Amameera waited in silence for a while, measuring Rin with her gaze. “Do you have reason to doubt me?” she said at last. “Why would I care for you, you ask? You mean besides the ‘everlasting’ debt I owe you for helping me leave the palace? Well, then. When you were little, you listened to my brooding on the old philosophers and poets, and you were the only man to do so. You listened. You were like a little brother in a way. I don’t know, it is difficult to explain one’s heart.” 

“I was a child then, that’s why I listened,” Rin said. “If I had known you were my father’s favorite, I would have spit on you. How is that the reason?” 

“Then why didn’t you spit on me when you found out?” said Amameera, her countenance soft and friendly again. 

Rin couldn’t say that by then it hadn’t mattered anymore, and father had been growing more scary and incomprehensible by the day, and she had been kind to Rin while even his own mother hadn’t been anymore. He took a cushion in his hands and twirled it. It fell onto his knees. 

“Do you expect me to believe that you are not tied to anything or anyone from your past?” said Amameera. “You expect me to believe there is nothing from your memories that is worthy enough to fight today? If you think so, I feel sorry for you. Besides, I’ve told you the other reason, as well. You still listen to me now. Because you haven’t forgotten completely how to listen to me, to the voices of Alamas, the voice of reason, and the voice of your heart, that’s why I care and work for you. Do you need more reasons?”

“No,” Rin said. 

He went to wake Gohar. She was asleep. 

“We need to leave,” he whispered. “Gohar.” He shook her shoulder. “We must leave.”

“Brother?” she rubbed her eyes. “What do you mean, leave, brother?” she said, fumbling out of her bed. 

“Dress into something sturdier,” Rin said, and Gohar chose her bostanji garment, complete with her bow and arrows.

“Will you tell me what is going on?” she said. 

“Insurrection,” Rin said, “treason, or whichever you prefer. We are still in time to avert it, though. Come.”

In Rin’s chambers, Safa had already returned with Nizamat and Seyjur. 

Nizamat was wringing his hands.

Seyjur was pointing his sword at Amameera, his stance that of a warrior ready to cut his foe down. “What are you?” he said. “If you are neither a vision nor a ghost, then what are you? And where is Prince Rinaz? What have you done to him? You’d better speak.”

“Uncle,” said Gohar. “It is all right.”

Seyjur’s eyebrows shot up. “Gohar. Rinaz.” He lowered the sword in surprise. “What is this? Would you care to explain, either of you?”

“I will,” Rin said. Hopefully this time Seyjur would listen. “Uncles Jaleel and Aarif would like to cut my head off and rule themselves. Haman the merchant is complotting with them, and it looks that they plan to initiate an assault on Alamas and disguise it as a civil revolt against me. It is time for you to decide with whom you want to stand. With me or with those would see me dead.”

“Meerza.” Nizamat covered his mouth with one hand. “You must save yourself, then. What do we do? Oh, what do we do?”

Safa merely observed the commotion.

Whatever Seyjur had expected to hear, Rin’s explanation must have been far from it. He glimpsed from Ama to Rin, then to Gohar, finally to Nizamat and Safa, and again the whole circle back. “What?” he said. “You accuse my brothers… How do you know any of this is true? I can’t… I won’t…”

He would not believe. Rin crossed his arms. “Then come with me and see for yourself” 

“And this…she…” began Seyjur and pointed at Ama. 

Gohar stepped closer to Seyjur and Nizamat. “This is truly Amameera.”

“Indeed,” said Ama, sitting down. 

“Amameera works for me,” Rin said, “and she had done so since the day I ordered her to leave the palace. Now do I have you and your men at my disposal to crush this rebellion?”

Seyjur sat on the floor and rubbed his forehead. “If what you speak is true… I can’t…”

Rin suspected Seyjur would say again that the uncles would never resort to such methods, but Seyjur said, “That is a lot to take in. Forgive me if I keep my doubts. I will do whatever I can to protect you, however. What do you have in mind?” 

“Do you know where the Tiger’s Tail is?” said Amameera. She was leaning on her arms, and though she had insisted the wound was not grave, it affected her posture and expression. “Ghorozang is the proprietor of the coffeehouse with such a name. We shall meet there. The intelligence I gathered from my sources matches some of the conversations of Ghorozang’s patrons. I fear that Western soldiers, or mercenaries, as Ghozorang believes, have infiltrated Alamas, as well. Their numbers are greater than a common escort would demand, and curiously enough they dress as citizens of Alamas.” She removed her black mantle, showing where blood was staining her clothes. “Look, I came close to unveiling the plot, and they tried to silence me. I speak the truth, Seyjur Mushir, and you must protect the Prince.”

“I know of Ghorozang,” said Seyjur, getting up. “I admire him greatly. Then what would you have me do? I am the Mushir of Sarimah before I am a brother.” 

“Leave the palace unnoticed,” said Amameera. “Ride to the Tiger’s Tail, and there we will meet. If you trust the city guard and your other soldiers, then it wouldn’t hurt to foreworn them to keep ready and alert, I shall think.”

Rin thought of sending Gohar with him for assurance, but then he thought that he, Ama, and the Marids were safer with Gohar in their midst, since hurting the group would mean hurting its members, and therefore Gohar, too. That way Seyjur would be less likely to change his mind.

Seyjur narrowed his eyes, brought one hand to his chin, and he was entirely Mushir. “Do you need an escort? I won’t have Rinaz walk unescorted into Alamas in a situation of peril.”

“No,” said Ama. “An escort would draw unnecessary attention. If we move with the night, we shall be safe. I know some of the mercenaries’ posts between the palace and the Tiger’s Tail, and I think we can avoid them.”

Gohar sat close to Amameera. “Your wound, does it hurt? Do you need the doctor? Yes, the doctor should see you.”

“Later,” said Ama. “It’s nothing that should kill me. Let us warn the Marids first.” 

“What about me?” said Nizamat, his eyes big, earnest, and frightened. “If I can help my Prince, I’ll do anything.”

“Saddle the horses. Five of them,” Rin said. Five steeds should be enough if some of them rode together. “Not Ateefa. And be as unobtrusive as you can.” Ateefa was not a war steed, and if a battle ensued, he would hate to see her hurt. “You will lead them outside the palace. Between the larger eastern gate and the entrance for messengers and servants, there are some buildings ahead. You will bring the horses there.”

Safa glanced around. “What about me, august Meerza?” 

Rin took the imperial sword and traced the ornaments on its sheath with his finger. “You will come with me for now.”

“We should go. Time is of essence.” Amameera stood. Her face was pale, but Rin sensed that if he asked her how she was, her determination would have her answer, “Fine,” either way.

 

In the Marids’ chamber, Makeen was sitting close to the bed where Haru was still lost to slumber. Nagi was sitting with a bowl of dried figs in his hands. 

“We need to leave the palace,” Rin said. “Now.”

“Why? Oh, look, so many people here,” said Nagi, opening his mouth in surprise. “Little Ama, what happened to you?” 

“What might happen to us all unless we move,” Rin said. “What is the current state of the water in Alamas?”

“I see,” said Rayn. He had been resting on the sofa, but now he was fully awake. “I feared the water ritual might set other events in motion. Do you have a plan?”

Rin nodded. 

Rayn looked through his notes on the map. “The oasis level has not changed by much,” he said, “but the way the water that flows into the canals has. Some of the blockage must have been removed. Nagi, help me prepare the papers and those other things.”

In short time Rayn was ready with two bags, as well as his musket and ammunition.

“Makeen will carry Haru,” said Rin. “We will go through the passages. Gohar, you will go as last.”

He fastened the imperial talwar to Haru’s belt, equally for good luck and safety. “If any danger befalls you, use it,” he said to Makeen. “Do not hesitate.”

Haru’s face appeared serene, peaceful, contrary to everyone else's in the room. Rin caressed his hand and kissed it. 

Once they were ready for departure, Rin opened the door that led into the dark, musty passage, and went in first with a lamp. Safa, carrying one of Rayn’s bags, stuck close to him, and Makeen followed. After Rayn, Nagi, and Ama Gohar walked with another lamp. 

“Stop shaking,” Rin whispered. Safa was glued to Rin, which made it difficult to proceed in the tunnels. 

“But the ghosts,” said the servant. 

“What ghosts?” said Makeen. 

“Just shut up, both of you,” Rin said, “we have bigger problems than ghosts to think about. If you as much as utter a sound, I will snuff out the lamp, and we’ll be walking in the dark.”

“August Prince, no, don’t do that,” Safa said. 

Makeen said, “Why would you do something like…” but Rin prepared to blow the lamp, and Makeen never finished the sentence. 

As they exited into the open air, outside the palace walls, Gohar pulled at Rin’s sleeve. 

“Brother,” she said, “What about our mother? Is she in danger, too? Shouldn’t we warn her, at least?”

For a long time Rin stared at her in the shadows, wavering between one answer and its opposite, and then he said, “I’m going back. You go ahead and tell Nizamat to wait for me with my horse.” 

Once again he scanned the faces of his companions and rested his gaze on Haru for a bit longer. The sight of Haru’s sunken head, his idle, lifeless arms, which were hanging from Makeen’s shoulder, reminded Rin of what needed to be done, and why.

“Safa, come with me,” he said. 

He returned to the palace, and once he had almost led them the wrong way in the passages. It had been a while since the entire palace, in particular the mysterious passages, had been his playground. His memory was not as exact as it had once been. 

They entered the corridor that lead to his mother’s chambers. The servants let him in, while Safa waited in the antechamber.

The room was dark, the air filled with incense. It was nighttime, but Rin knew that if he ventured inside by day, the sight would be the identical. Not so long ago he had lived in the same way. 

She was awake. Dressed in formal black and gold, night was the same as day to her. “Why are you here?” mother said.

It was not the most welcoming greeting, but Rin hadn’t expected a warm welcome, either. 

“The Sha’ir has completed the water ritual,” Rin said, not knowing where else to begin. 

Mother ordered her servants to take away the waterpipe and to leave the chamber.

“I’ve heard. Good for you.” Her eyes were dulled by the grief, idleness, and sleepless nights, and in them Rin could find only a pittance of affection, and even of that pittance he was not convinced. 

“What of it?” mother said. 

As if the mere sound of her voice were draining his strength, thus Rin felt his resolution crumble. He needed to think why he had come here in first place. 

 

‘Why can't you just love me? Why can’t you be proud?’ Rin thought but kept his silence. She and father had taught him that love could be too easily withdrawn, by either death, or a change of heart, or several other reasons. Rin had learned to trade the taste of love for grandiosity, as it had been expected of him. Only with Haru he had learned again to become himself, as much as that was possible. He was not a child, and part of him was lost forever; this Rin noticed while gazing at his mother’s face. 

Certain things could not be mended by magic and rituals, but only perhaps lessened by time and patience, or perhaps not even then. 

“Whatever you’ve come to ask, I don’t want to hear,” mother said. “I’ve heard it once because of you, but I will not twice.” 

“Heard what?” Rin clenched his fists. She was still blaming him as the core for father’s behavior, the curse that had veiled father’s eyes and reason. While Rin had never completely understood why he should be the source of the curse, quietly his heart had recognized it for truth. Openly his heart had accepted it. Like a child he stammered, powerless, searching for words to tell her. His mind was slow and heavy with shame, fear, and anger. “You may be in danger here, Venerable Mother,” said Rin. “It would be wise for you to leave the palace.” 

“Leave me,” said she, waving one hand. “This is my home, and for all you’ve taken from me, you will not take my place. Your presence is danger to me. Who will care what I do otherwise?”

Wetting his lips to speak, Rin saw that it was as mother had said. Rin himself posed the greatest danger to what he loved, and those around him were punished for tolerating or even welcoming his presence. After all, the Vizier was after Rin’s life, not Haru’s. Then in the worst case, he could… 

Rin shook his head. 

Stupid. That would not solve anything. Whether he lived or died, Sarimah and the Marids would still face difficulties, and he’d much prefer to live than to die. 

“Why can’t you love me?” said Rin. 

“Who are you?” Mother’s features became a snarl of anguish and rage. “You chose a whore over your own mother, over the one who gave you birth. You killed your own father. You’d be my child again?” 

Rin bent his head, and almost he closed his ears with his hands. When she was speaking like this, he could not bear to listen because whichever accusations she flung, his mind would reject, but his heart would believe. In mother’s eyes, Amameera was a whore. In mother’s mind, father had been corrupted by…Rin didn’t know what, but he knew it was supposed to be his fault. In mother’s eyes, Rin was the culprit.  
Perhaps he should have sent Gohar to speak with mother instead, but it was too late now. 

“Then I will take my leave,” Rin said. “Take heed, Venerable Mother.”

“You take heed. Take heed not to return to me until you’re ready to beg for forgiveness. Even then I will not forgive you. Never,” she said. 

Rin left the chambers at slow pace, ignoring Safa’s chant of “august Meerza, august Meerza,” and defying the urge to sprint and dash somewhere far away. Cry there, perhaps.  
The curse from mother’s lips clutched him, and barely knowing what he was doing, he stalked the harem. Not patience and not time would change his mother and him. Every day of his life, he would think of his father and worry about his mother one way or another. 

“August Meerza,” said Safa, “august Meerza.” He pulled at Rin’s robe. 

“What?” Rin said. 

“I think that woman there is following my august Prince,” Safa whispered. 

Rin looked around. It was true. A servant caught up with him, and Rin recognized her as one of his spies. 

“My Prince,” she said. “I would come to meet you, but it seems you know.”

Whatever she thought Rin knew was probably not the same thing as he did know. This spy was relegated only to the harem, so how would she know about the plot?

“Tell me,” Rin said. 

Nodding, the servant whispered, “The Vizier and Firdausi, they mean to overthrow you and make her son rule instead.” 

One of father’s concubines was conspiring with the Royal Uncles?

“What?” Rin said. “When did you learn of this?”

The spy glanced up and down the corridor. “Not long ago I pried it from Firdausi’s servant.” 

“Anything else?” said Rin, but the woman shook her head, and therefore Rin ordered her to trail the concubine’s movements without being noticed.

Now this.  
In his lack of attentiveness he had missed the signs. So caught he had been inside his thoughts of Haru and water that he had neglected all else. The palace did not rest, and Rin would need to have a thousand eyes and a thousand ears to catch everything of import in it. 

The concubine’s son was too young, but that was probably what had strengthened the accord between the uncles and the concubine; the Vizier and Aarif would rule as regent in the boy’s name until the son would grow of age. Likely the Vizier would dispose of the son and the concubine then, just as he wished to dispose of Rin now. One puppet for another. Father’s blood bound Rin and the boy, but they were not brothers. They were contenders.

“In my own palace,” Rin whispered.

In his own palace they wanted to kill Rin, likely in his own chambers. Despite knowing the danger, a part of Rin considered his quarters, his bedchamber and his garden especially, as hallowed, untouchable ground, where nobody but the Prince and his trusted ones were allowed to enter.  
Childish thinking, all this time he had been indulging in such childish thinking. He was not safe in his chamber, and magic could not solve everything. 

The time of respite with Haru and the Marids had passed like a dream, and a crude awakening into a reality was imminent. No, it had happened already. As if in this reality Haru did not exist, so alone Rin felt. Yet Haru existed, he did. Haru was waiting, sleeping, and regaining strength. This fact alone emboldened Rin’s hope. The solution could not be too far away, no, like Haru it was within reach. Haru…

Rin exhaled slowly. 

With Haru he had seen the dream, and now it was time to wake that sight into reality. It would be easier with Haru by his side. If only Haru had been awake... Haru wouldn’t even need to say anything, he wouldn’t need to smile, and not even to hold Rin’s hand. It would be enough if he looked at Rin, and then they could look into the same direction, toward the sight that was uniting them, toward the water, toward the love. 

No matter what Jaleel, Aarif, and the Divan said, Rin had to insist on his own truth. Whatever Seyjur, the delegates, and everyone in Alamas said, that should not deter him. Whichever way the reality was bent, it was Rin’s right to exist. It was his right to keep hold of his dreams. It was his right to carve an entrance into the hostile reality, dive into it, and change it with his own hands, as both an agent of destiny and his own free will. There must have been a path. And for that path Rin was willing to fight. To keep Haru by his side Rin was willing to struggle and strive. He’d carve holes into reality and bend it, swim in it as in water. 

Even if the world said, “No,” as long as he was with Haru, he could change that “No” into “Yes.” They could change it together.

Yet at least a few things Rin should be able to do alone. 

The concubine with her son would not be a threat, and the wisest path would be to let her proceed with whatever her plans were and thus avoid suspicions. 

If she would send a message to the Vizier, Rin’s ambush might be doomed to failure. Once the Vizier, Aarif, and Haman would be dealt with, Rin could think what to do with the concubine, as well. 

After reaching the Prince’s chambers, Rin instructed Safa on what to do. He repeated it three times, because Safa was too slow at understanding orders sometimes. 

“Do you understand?” Rin said. “Now repeat, what do you need to do?”

“Yes, august Meerza,” said Safa. “I have to keep bringing wine to Meerza’s room.”

“And leave the palace before dawn,” added Rin. “If meanwhile anyone asks to meet me, say that the Prince is drunk and asleep and would therefore not meet anyone. Don’t speak to anyone on your own, don’t even look at anyone. Don’t fall asleep. Return home until I call for you again. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Safa said. 

“Good,” said Rin. “Good, Safa. It is an important task that I entrust to you, so carry it out well.”

“Yes, august Prince.”

Rin sighed and tousled Safa’s hair. “Don’t forget your orders.”

Once more he went through the secret passage, and this time worries toyed with him as ghosts had with Safa and Makeen. 

He sighed.  
If this were a tale, just by wheeling a magic ring round Rin’s finger, a jinni would appear and carry the entire palace to safety. This was not a tale, however. It was his life. 

“My life,” he whispered into the cold air. 

What magic Rin could get hold of, he had already used. With his own arms and sword he would have to continue and finish the work.

For whichever reason, most likely because of the confined tunnel and the darkness, uneasiness gripped him and pushed his legs to walk faster. In his hand the lamp shook. In the strange, ominous dance of shadow and light, he recalled the tale of the prince and the death.

The prince saw Death in his gardens, shaking her fists at him angrily. Out of fear for his life, the prince fled the palace and rode into the sands. Until nightfall he rode his horse, and then he breathed out in relief, for the palace was far behind him, and Death could not reach him anymore. Yet there and then Death appeared in front of him, saying, “I have been waiting for you, my prince. In the morning I was furious. I was to take your life in the desert, yet you were so far from the spot predestined. Enraged I was, because I knew not how to force you out of your palace, and thus I shook my fists at you. Yet look, your fear lead you right to me, as it was foretold. You did your work for me.” And thus the prince died, and Death won. 

Rin reminded himself that he was not fleeing, instead he was going to fight, and that the presence of death was equally threatening inside and outside the palace. There was no reason for superstition. Fear was the most natural emotion when battles waited on the horizon. Fear was justified, superstition was not.

At the meeting place, under the night sky, Nizamat was waiting with a horse.

There was no reason for superstition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Following up with the things Rin doesn't know, here comes another reason why Ama helps Rin.  
> As Rin suspects, the previous sultan died because of a plot, but he doesn't know that Amameera was part of it. At the time she saw that the sultan was out of his mind and needed to be stopped, so she aided the Vizier and acted as a lure, since the sultan thought Amameera was already dead. 
> 
> (Yes, the Vizier knows Ama still lives, and if this fic wasn't written exclusively in Rin's PoV, that would make for a complex story.)
> 
> I think Ama regretted her actions later, but the deed was done. So she's helping Rin in part to atone for her sins. 
> 
> If you thought her reaction was too mild when she reprimanded Rin for killing one of her Rats, now you know why. That's also why she told Rin that a single action can easily change a person's fate, because that's what happened to her. 
> 
> Rin's mother knows and she blames Rin for the sultan's death, but she also refuses to tell Rin about it because she's still his mother and that's her way of protecting him. *sigh*
> 
> 2\. The tale of the Persian prince and Death is one I've read a long time ago, I can't remember where. I've tried to find it with the help of google, but I got only Ubisoft's PoP (which I also like, but that's not what I was searching for), so you'll have to do with my retelling from memory, sorry. 
> 
> 3\. I can't for the love of me remember _why_ I started writing Sand, what I was thinking back then. I just don't understand why I thought it was a decent idea. 
> 
> 4\. Thank you for reading. I'm sure there are some mistakes somewhere that I didn't notice. Sorry about that.
> 
> EDIT:  
> 5\. I forgot to add, many characters that play an important (offscreen) role in this chapter have been briefly mentioned before, but as you know, Rin's attention went mostly to Haru and water.
> 
> 6\. If I won't be able to reply to the comments today (my brain is kind of fried ATM), I'll try to do it tomorrow.


	18. Dance of Destiny

Ghorozang’s servant led Rin and Nizamat to the personal quarters above the Tiger’s Tail. Rin walked briskly, trying to forget that each guard and each citizen who had seen them on the streets could foil his plans. 

“You’ve finally made it, little Rin.” Nagi waved with a date in his hand. 

Gohar ran to greet Rin. “You made it.” 

“Try this if it fits,” said Ama and passed to him a set of common clothing. 

“What now?” said Rin. His eyes went to Haru first, and there he found him sleeping on the sofa. 

The lamps were burning bright, and on the table all kinds of dishes waited. 

Traces of yoghurt sauce stuck on Nagi’s lips. “With stomach empty one can neither dance nor fight,” said Nagi, spit the date’s stone, and masticated. “So eat.” 

Though Rin did not feel hunger, only nerves, he pushed the freshly prepared lamb and lentils down his gorge. The hint of cinnamon made him think of his palace and whether he would ever return there. He drank one cup of coffee after another.

Nizamat was sighing, but was following Rin’s example and eating well. Rayn was eating as well as reading from a paper, and meanwhile Makeen twirled the cup in his hands and took only a little from the plate. 

“Are you worried?” said Rin.

“Aren’t we all?” Makeen said. 

With a nod, Rin said, “Then eat now, for worry takes the strength away. You will need to carry Haru later and care for his safety. I hope you won’t need to fight, but you will need your strengths either way.”

Ama and Ghoro were talking about the meeting place of Royal uncles, while Seyjur was reading through the notes that Amameera had given him. 

“The Queen of Falaknaz?” Seyjur muttered. 

“We must know what to do if the leadership of the uprising is split in different ways, and the snake has more heads than three or four,” said Ama. 

Rin wiped his mouth and stood. “Will you be my general in this battle?” he said to Ghorozang.

“I don’t know.” Ghoro scratched his head. “Who will follow my lead? I’m only an old man now.”

“Not that old,” said Seyjur. “Ghorozang is the name that still inspires my men, just like it instills fear in the enemies. Will you truly remain here and watch Alamas and your Prince suffer?” 

The sounds that Ghorozang uttered were a mix of sighs and huffs. “Would that I could. But you won’t leave me to my coffee, will you? No. Just fine, since I can’t choose coffee over Alamas, either. I will undertake this task.” 

Rayn put his food and papers down and placed a map of Alamas on the table. They charted how they would divide the forcers, where would they go first, how they would proceed in which instance, and how they would keep contact.  
Between one conversation and the other, Ghorozang shed off his skin of coffeehouse keeper, revealing brawn and brain of a general. 

He donned his old armor in leather, keeping his tiger skin still slung over his shoulder. “I suggest five larger units. I’ll lead one, you, Seyjur, and your officers shall take charge of others. Each group shall be divided further into three for mobility,” Ghoro said. “I fear the mercenaries and the Bashi Bozuk will be used to distract and tire us. After them the Vizier’s troops might come jointed with the Western army to crush us. Yet a city is a peculiar type of battlefield, so I wonder what kind of stratagem they will use.”

Rin tapped on the map. “That is why I believe the core of this assault are not foreign soldiers or sellswords, but our own. I do expect great confusion, but no great battles. I think they might create a disorder where people gather, at the bazaar or at a similar place, to create the illusion that the revolt comes from common people. I need to inform you that the concubine Firdausi is part of the plot, too, hoping to gain the throne for her son.” 

“Brother,” said Gohar, “so they truly mean to kill you, don’t they?”

“Hm,” said Ghorozang, rubbing his tiny beard. 

Rayn took a stylus and began marking parts of the map. “The Crescent Bazaar,” he said, “the Star Fountains, the Temple of Forefathers, the Gate of Dancing Sand, and the Pillars of Weeping Stones.  
If they plan to create a diversion, those would be good spots to begin. Personally I’d choose the northern fountains.” 

“I’d say the Crescent Bazaar is more likely,” said Ghorozang, “and I’ll bring my troops there.”

“Some of my men shall visit Haman the merchant,” said Amameera, “for they will know how to execute a ruse better than yours. I ask only that you place some of your soldiers under my command as backup, infantrymen and a small unit of artillery. My other men will keep the Broken End safe. I don’t know precisely how and where they plan the ambush, and I would not make a guess without more intelligence. Haman will know, though, and I can also make him retrieve his mercenaries from the field, for it appears likely some of the mercenaries were bought with his coin.” 

“They use ambushes like cowards,” said Seyjur, folding his arms. “I’d feel shamed to be on their side. So brethren shall fight each other.” He spat on the ground. “I’ll piss on them. I’ll piss on their carcasses.”

Ghorozang laughed. “Cool your head, Mushir. You’ll be needing it afore long. The Prince will move with your unit, Seyjur, leave the archers to me, and you take what muskets Amameera does not necessitate.”

Once they determined the details of their designs, Rin changed clothes. He took the talwar Seyjur offered.

They mounted their horses, and Rin helped Nizamat up, since Gohar was already on the same horse as Amameera. 

As he could not sit upright, Haru was tossed and sprawled across the back of Makeen’s horse, as a sack of whichever common produce one would drag to the market. 

That was the first time Rin laughed since...the day before. The water ritual seemed already so far away, and Rin could have sworn that it had happened not only half a night earlier, but a whole moon ago. 

“Meerza?” said Nizamat, gripping Rin’s waist. “What is it?”

Instead of answering, Rin said, “Makeen, I’ll buy your freight,” and Makeen blinked twice. Rin rode closer and tapped Haru’s posterior. “Your freight, I shall buy it, so take good care of it for now.”

Behind them Little Nagi began tittering. At least someone understood the joke. 

They set off.  
Rin, Gohar, and the Marids went with Amameera, whilst Ghoro rode away with Seyjur. 

“Here we are,” said Amameera once they had ridden deeply into the zone of the poor. She alighted. 

At her whistle, a man and a woman appeared. “You will carry the boy,” she said, hinting with the tilt of her head at Haru. “Now let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Little Nagi said. 

“My kingdom,” said Ama, “or should I call it queendom?” 

Although they were in the dark, certainly not recognizing their location amidst the houses of the Paupers’ End, Ama still put a bandage over their eyes, and spun them around several times. 

Only then she led them to the lair of the Rats. 

They walked and fumbled, and after a while they clumsily descended a narrow staircase and turned now left and now right. They must have been underground.

“Oh, isn’t this exciting?” said Nagi. “It’s like were going into a secret cave for a treasure. What do you say, little Rayn?”

“Shh,” said Rayn.

“Do you think we'll find treasures and brigands there?” said Nagi.

“Brigands probably, as for treasures...” said Rayn, “I lost myself.”

He was probably trying to draw a map in his mind based on the path they walked and the turns they made, in a similar way as he had recreated the map of the secret passages in the palace.

 

At last Amaameera told them to stop and take off the covers from their eyes. 

Indeed they were underground, inside a tunnel that widened into a chamber. The caverns must have been naturally made, or so it seemed, but the walls bore at times meticulous decorations in style of Amalas and Marids both. 

“You will remain here, those of you who will not fight,” said Amameera. 

Amameera’s companions laid Haru down on the cushions. 

“Is it safe here?” Rin said. “If a spy talked about this place to the enemies…”

“This part at least should be safe,” she said. “If anyone ventures here, he’ll end up lost or dead.” She looked up. “Lost and dead.”

Rin checked down the pathway in rock, and the tunnels were level with the water or above it. They intersected at several points; some tunnels were wider and other so narrow and low that one would need to crawl on all fours to get inside. 

Of course.  
Amameera hadn’t forgotten to bring the map of the qanat below the Broken End, she had chosen not to in order to keep these passageways hidden a little longer.

“You do understand I will still need the diagrams of the water tunnels, I hope,” said Rin, “and those of the tunnels without water. Besides, you know the secrets of the palace, and if I am to rule after this day, I should know the secrets of the qanat, as well.”

Ama’s answer was a quick nod, and she already fixed her gaze on something behind Rin’s face. “You will follow the Prince today.”

“Yes,” said someone from behind. Turning to the voice, Rin recognized the face. There was the Rat who had warned them about the ambush in Alamas. This was the man who had helped the day Rin and the Marids had been exploring the waterworks. 

“I need to thank you.” Rin bowed. 

“Will red-eyed Basha bring the spirits and the water back?” Zeb said. Indeed he was taller than Rin and with more muscles. 

“I will try with all my might,” said Rin.

“Then that is thanks enough. Zeb will protect you.” 

“Wait here,” said Ama, “I need to redress my wound.”

Ama left, and they sat waiting and glancing at each other. Zeb was standing at one of the entrances. Rayn was looking at the walls, probably trying to discern something that pertained to his scholarly curiosity. Nizamat sat next to Rin. 

“Then little Maki and little Haru remain here,” Nagi said, tapping his nervous feet on the ground.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Makeen said. “Now we part ways.” With a shudder he added, “This place is too macabre for my tastes.”

The lamps made the walls glow orange, but there were more shadows than light overall. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, little Maki,” said Nagi, reached toward Makeen with one leg, and nudged Makeen’s feet. “We will be together soon. Me and little Rayn can take care of ourselves. And we’ll take care of little Rin, too.” He jumped up and embraced Makeen. “You just keep watch over little Haru, all right? I’m sure there are no ghosts here.”

“Yes,” said Makeen, returning the embrace.

“I think the prospects are good,” said Rayn. “Better in fact than they have been in years.”

Makeen sighed. “Then let us trust in Rin and the spirits.”

“What about me?” said Nizamat, pointing at his face. 

“You’ll stay here, too,” Rin said, “and guard my sister and the Sha’ir in my stead.”

Gohar pursed her lips. “Must I wait here, too?” 

“You’ll be safe here.” Rin shrugged his shoulders. “Safer than anywhere else, so it would please me if you remained here. It would be for the best.”

She didn’t reply. 

Rin edged toward Haru, took Haru’s hand, and finding warmth and solace in it, he nested closely to Haru’s body. With the slow, tiny, and rhythmic rise and fall of Haru’s chest, Rin’s mind stopped wandering and focused on Haru alone. 

He felt Gohar’s hand on his back. “It will be all right, brother,” she whispered. 

“Of course it will be,” said Little Nagi. 

Amameera’s return interrupted their moment of repose. “We should leave now,” she said. “I will go to find Haman, meanwhile you and Seyjur will pay a visit to the Royal Uncles.”

Two female Rats had come with her and sat in the stone chamber. 

Zeb armed himself with spear and sword. 

Rin patted Makeen and Nizamat on the shoulder, and only looked at Haru, for if he tried to do or say anything more, he knew the imminence of peril would lead to a sense of finality in his gestures. He had all the intentions to return. Since he would return soon, there was no reason for any farewell. 

Gohar embraced him tightly. “I would come with you. I can help.”

Rin shook his head. “No. I would be dying of fear knowing I brought you into danger. Will you wait?”

Not quite willingly Gohar agreed.

“Let’s go,” said Ama.

They went with her together, Rin, Nagi, Rayn, and the Rat Zeb. Each had their own horse this time. 

They parted ways with Amameera at the gate that separated the Broken End from the rest of the city. The night was still shielding them when they met with Seyjur and his troops. 

With a dozen of selected men, they entered the house that Amameera had designated. The rest waited outside. The door was unlocked, and the house guards were naught but corpses.

“What is going on?” Seyjur said. 

Cries led them down the corridors. The noises and screams were those of men in slaughter.  
Seyjur gave a sign to his men, and they smashed the next door open. One by one they poured into the room. 

Inside, Queen Izdihaar stood unveiled, with a troop of her guards, and dead men lay on the rugs and cushions. Her blade and clothes were bathed in blood. One man was still breathing, but soon not anymore. The room was fairly small and without windows, as one would expect of a place for secret meetings.

One or two faces Rin could recognize; there were the corpses of the two delegates from the Western Union, and the others belonged to the emissaries’ soldiers. 

“Are you here for your Vizier? You are a bit too late, as was I,” the Queen said. 

Rin saw that she was counting his soldiers with her gaze, estimating Rin’s strength. 

“What happened here?” said Seyjur, amidst giving orders to his men to surround the Queen’s guard. 

“We had a disagreement,” Izdihaar said, “mostly on who should be our ally.”

She cleaned her sword with the turban she had picked from the ground. “That is all.” She sheathed her sword. 

“That is not even the beginning. Explain yourself!” Seyjur lifted his talwar in her direction, and Izdihaar’s guards moved at the same speed as the city guards, and blades pointed at blades without touching. 

“Lower your swords,” Rin said to Seyjur, and soon Izdihaar hinted to her men to do the same. Rin walked carefully among his allies and would-be-allies toward the Queen. Zeb followed three steps behind.

“You would kill your own? Why?” said Rin. 

“My own? How old are you?” said Izdihaar with her eyes narrowed. “Are you not after you uncles, and they after you?” 

Rin nodded to show his good will and agreement. 

“I’m not after Rinaz,” said Seyjur. “And we have precisely no reason to trust you.”

Rin ignored him. “Yet tell me why you killed the delegates,” he said to Izdihaar. “Does that not work in your disfavor?”

“Not really,” said the Queen. “I've seen the power of the Marids, and I would not throw clean water away. They would. They would do that or worse, unbelievers.  
“Although it pains me to say so, just like you, we need the knowledge and the blessing of the Marid tribe. The Sha’ir listens to you. For years rulers have tried to either win or coerce the favors of the Marids, and though I don’t know how you succeeded, it must be the will of the spirits. I will honor that will. For now. I can stand that you gain more than me if it means my people will be richer for it. You might think me stupid, but I’m not.” She kicked the corpse of a delegate. “Water flows where it pleases and carves its own path eventually. If the Sha’ir works for you of his own volition, and the spirits have accepted him, than it must be for a greater good.”

She had mentioned before that she followed the path of water, and if she was pious, that would be advantageous for Rin. The renown of Marid magic and the Sha’ir was power in itself.

“And what of your companions?”said Rin. “Will nobody miss them in your land?” 

Izdihaar remained unperturbed. “It can be spun either way. We may find a tale that suits my lands and yours. You might need to pay tribute for the delegates you killed. I’m sure you will find a way to excuse your actions, since it was likely by mistake, in the fray. Or perhaps one of your unloved underlings did it behind your back. I’ll help you.” 

“I didn’t kill them,” Rin said. 

“Who knows, we shall see.” Queen Izdihaar shrugged. The folds of her smile were shallow, but they were hiding the mind of someone who thought a dozen steps ahead, and not only ahead, but in each direction. 

Why was she saying this now? Rin had her surrounded, and at the smallest hint from him, his soldiers would either imprison her or take her life. Did she know something Rin didn’t? 

As a measure of precaution, Rin looked around the room. Seyjur’s eyes were on the Queen, tracing her movements with distrust, ready to strike when necessary. The soldiers of Alamas outnumbered Izdihaar’s, and if any of his soldiers had traitorous intent, they hid it well, for no man showed any inkling to raise his talwar against Rin.

Izdihaar was counting on her importance, her position to save her, then. 

“Are you testing me?” Rin said. “Did we not agree to give each other trust?”

She laughed. “Forgive me, Prince, once you will be in my position, you will see the world through different eyes. If you can keep your thoughts away from the incurring danger and pain that your body is subjected to, you will see how most of the events are hilarious, or tragic, depending on how you slant your eyes.” With her hand she showed toward the corpses on the floor. “The more we struggle, the more the spirits laugh at our futile attempts to change the course of water. I will not aid you today, but neither will I be an obstacle on your path. I’ll exert my power to stay what Western swords I can. The rest is up to you. In truth, I’d love to see you as an ally and the Sha’ir as my guide. Fight well. If you survive, we may yet forge a pact that will have us drink more water and spill less blood. I’m looking forward to it.”

She ordered her guards to leave the room, and Rin ordered his soldiers to make way. 

“What now?” said Nagi after she had left. 

Rayn pulled the map from his bag. 

“Seyjur Mushir,” called a soldier and came rushing inside. “There are fires in the north, look for yourself.”

They all ran outside. Against the first layer of dawn, somewhere far ahead, pillars of smoke were rising from the roofs toward the sky.

“Fuck,” said Seyjur and spat. “Sedik’s units must have arrived too late.” He began ordering his men to organize.

“Give me the map,” said Rin. He and Rayn looked at each other, both catching each other’s thoughts. If the diversion was in the north, where was the actual event? In the palace, or likely somewhere else?

Rayn had guessed right, the first blow had gone up in the north of Alamas. It reminded Rin that the Marid scholar was also a tactician of his own right, and that he had counseled in battles. 

Rayn traced the lines of the streets with his index finger, sweeping then to what he deemed as points of interest, and back to the streets. 

A soldier messenger fought his way to Rin and Seyjur. In front of them he kneeled. Rin exchanged a glance with Seyjur and picked the message from the soldier’s hands.  
In Amameera’s hand and secret letters, Rin read that she has captured the Yellow Beetle, and made him surrender the mercenaries to her command.

“Amameera has Haman’s mercenaries,” Rin said, “and she imprisoned Haman himself.”

Seyjur narrowed his eyes in thought. “With Haman’s mercenaries and Western soldiers out of the equation, we have only the Vizier’s troops to contend with.”

“Nobody else?” said Little Nagi, peering between the two of them on to the paper in Rin’s hands. 

“The troops of vassal lords that joined uncle Jaleel’s cause, perhaps,” Rin said. “I sure hope there are no more players in this game.”

“What about the infiltrates?” Rayn said, cleaning his spectacles of street dust. “I would wager the Vizier should have bought or otherwise persuaded some men in the city guard to follow his orders instead of yours, when the time would come.”

It did sound like a stratagem uncle Jaleel could use. Pondering, Rin brushed a tuft of hair from his face. 

“Was any of your officers suspicious in any way?” Rayn said. 

With arms crossed, Seyjur stared at the scholar. “I would have noticed if that had been so. Aren’t you looking too deep for conspiracies?” His brow lined with tension. 

“Pardon me,” said Rayn, “I only speak of what I find would be reasonable and intelligent of one in the Vizier’s position to do. I do not know whether he did so or not. Still, it would be better to consider the option and discard it than not to consider it at all.”

Seyjur fixed his eyes in the distance, where the smoke was rising. Then he glanced toward the center of Alamas. 

A soldier from one of the subunits returned. “Labeeb Bey and Omair Bey are fighting against the troops of the Vizier. They ask you for assistance.”

“Where?” Rin said.

“If your ride here to the Crescent Bazaar, in the middle there is the Plaza of Good Spirits, if you know it.”

“I know it,” said Rayn.

“So do I,” Seyjur said. He sent a messenger to Ghorozang, and they set forward. 

Though they had a few horses, everyone proceeded at equal speed—the speed of marching infantry, and horses were reserved for those of high ranks and for the messengers. Every now and then a soldier lagged to relieve his bladder against the walls of Alamas, and much to Rin’s displeasure, he was eventually urged by nature to do the same. 

Alamas was waking and the citizens were watching the army with stupor. Many hid inside their houses and peered only from the windows. 

The battle was almost over when Rin and his army reached it, or so Seyjur said. 

He sent a few units in aid, and Rin waited with him and the Marids in the adjoining street. 

“Easy, easy,” Rin said to his agitated horse. In honesty, he was agitated more than his steed. Was it all right for a Prince not to fight? Was it all right to watch from safety? He divided his attention watching the fight ahead and the sky of Alamas. It appeared far more organized in the reports than here, seeing it unfold in flesh between the quick and the dead. 

“It will be nice if we don’t have to fight at all, don’t you think?” said Little Nagi.

“Indeed,” said Rayn. 

After a while the sound of battle quieted, and instead cheers rose, mixed with the wailing of the wounded. 

Soldiers led Vizier Jaleel in front of Rin. 

The Vizier was dusty but intact. Unchained he was, unbound, without a weapon, and only held by soldiers. Sullen was his gaze, but his posture and gait remained proud even as they prodded him to walk faster. A scorpion lifted his tail before striking, but the Vizier would not make such signs. 

Rin dismounted the horse, and Zeb did likewise. 

Seyjur had already alighted, too. He was looking at his older brother, fuming and with arms crossed.

What now? 

Rin readied his sword. Readied for what he couldn’t decide. Should he ask or say something?  
Was there some important truth between them, between him and uncle Jaleel, something that would explain why they were enemies and rivals before being relatives?

Rin hinted to the soldiers to bring Jaleel closer and make him kneel. 

“Will you beg for your life?” Rin said. 

The Vizier kept both his calm and silence. Undoubtedly he believed that there was some other snare he could lay, some other lever he could pull. 

“Explain your plan with precision,” said Rin, and waited for an answer with no avail. 

“Speak truthfully,” added Seyjur. 

They were wasting time. If Rin wanted him to speak, he should find another way to shake the Vizier from silence. 

“I can say it frankly now, that not one of your counsels was worth anything. It is lucky I exist, because you’d make for a terrible Sultan. It is simply not your destiny,” said that, Rin stepped to uncle Jaleel, and slapped his face. “You’re just not smart enough.”

As Rin had hoped, the Vizier responded with outrage on his face.

“You think you may hit me?” he said. “You think you’re better than me? You piece of camel dung.”

The soldiers kept Jaleel in his place and on his knees.

Not far behind Rin, Zeb waited; Rin noticed the Rat stopped precisely at the distance that was needed for the spear to reach the uncle. 

What else could Rin say or do to enrage Jaleel? His palm was smarting from the slap he gave. 

“Do you see now the difference between you and me?” Rin said. “I’m better than you at everything, and this,” Rin kicked Jaleel knees, “is the proof of it.”

Though Rin was bad at this, just as he had been bad at this when he had tried to threaten Haru so long ago, he could still learn. Now he had an even better reason to do so, as much as that reason was asleep and unresponsive below ground. 

He slapped Jaleel again.

“Rinaz!” said Seyjur.

“Little Rin,” said Nagi, almost at the same time. 

Rin didn’t turn around to meet their eyes. Instead, with his achy hand, he prepared to slap Jaleel across the face yet once more. 

“Proof of what, you punk!” In vain the Vizier tried to free himself. “You wouldn’t know even how to wipe your own ass without me. You should have died when your father did,” said Jaleel. “I should have killed you. I should have listened to Aarif. Instead I kept you alive, and look what I get in return.” 

His nostrils flared, his eyes stared at Rin with more white than iris, and sharp white teeth flashed from under the red moustache. 

Rin couldn’t recall ever seeing uncle Jaleel thus, and never had he heard such bite in Jaleel’s voice.

“Have you heard him?” said Rin, unsure exactly to whom he addressed this; to Seyjur, to the soldiers, to Alamas, and the whole world. “This is the man who poisoned the mind of my late father and drove him into madness. He started wars behind my father’s back, abusing his name, as he now abuses mine.” 

Jaleel began arguing, yelling, spitting, but the guards forced him into silence with kicks and blows. 

“Our blessings he changed into a curse,” Rin said, “and he would keep us under that curse. He bore grudge to my father and this land, so he complotted to see them both ruined. He still does. Again he plots to ruin Alamas. Yet I will not permit it. The Marids have blessed my hand and Sarimah. This time he shall not take away the blessings.”

Who cared what the truth was at this point?

‘If my heirlooms are sand and drought, then sand and drought I will use,’ Rin thought. If uncle Jaleel would not reveal the plans, then he could be of use in other ways. 

The sun, the golden eye of heavens was watching him. 

The viziers were always evil, everyone knew so, and every old tale would attest to that. Viziers were like jackals and vultures, so why shouldn’t Jaleel take blame for all? Why shouldn’t he take father’s sins? People were simple and believed in tales and legends. If he gave them an evil character upon which they might spit instead of dirtying the name Rinaz, would that not be beneficial? Jaleel’s sins were plenty enough, ascribing to him a few more would do no difference. 

‘It would not hurt to take some advantage of the evil I cannot avoid,’ Rin thought. This was the privilege of victors; to rewrite truths, and why should Rin not apply it? It dawned on him the awareness that he had given the speech to persuade not others but himself alone. By all means he had wanted to convince himself that this was the right path. Could there be another?

“Do you admit your wrongdoings?” Rin said. 

“Wrongdoings?” said the Vizier and shook his head. 

“You never knew what is best for Sarimah,” said Rin. He walked back to Seyjur and the two Marids. 

Jaleel was too cunning, too dangerous to be let alive.  
As long as the Vizier lived, be it in prison, or chained, or even in exile on the other side of the world, Rin would fear for his life and Haru’s, and fear for everything his own heart held dear. Each breath of his life, until the very death, he’d fear uncle Jaleel’s retribution. 

Sometimes forgiveness was weakness, and to forgive the Vizier would mean to endanger not only himself, but also Haru, Gohar, and the others. 

Jaleel could not live.

“You must die for what you did,” Rin said. Even more, Jaleel had to die for what he could still do. “Sarimah will become rich again, abound in water, and what my father, your brother, dreamed for the land, so it will be.”

“You think you can do this, you alone, you punk?” said Jaleel. “How could I have ever felt pity for you? This is how you repay me?” He spat on the ground. “Indeed, I taught him archery every day, and when he got good at it, he cast an arrow at me. I should have let you be killed. No, I should have wrung your head myself.”

“You’re wrong, Rin said. “You haven’t taught me archery, Ghorozang and Seyjur did.” The Vizier was citing an old saying, but the saying was wrong in this case. Rin gripped the talwar with more force. Why did he feel pain? Shouldn’t he be glad to be rid of the danger? Why did he wish for forgiveness? Uncle Jaleel was not the one to give redemption, then why seek it? 

“I will cut your head off, as it goes for traitors,” Rin said.

“No, Rinaz,” said Seyjur and pried the talwar from Rin’s hands. “Let me do it. You have no strength in your arms for a clean cut. For all the sins that burden him, he is still my brother, and I would not have him suffer long.” 

“You believe now?” Rin said. Even Seyjur saw now. 

‘Shouldn’t I be happy?’ Rin thought. He felt grains of sand irritating his lips and eyes. 

“You’d kill your own brother?” said Jaleel. Seeing that the inevitability of his end and the nearness of death, his aplomb crumbled further. It dissolved into panic and furry and curses. 

“I’d protect my Prince,” said Seyjur. 

‘Shouldn’t I be glad?’ Rin thought. In the heat, the street waved in front of his eyes. It wasn’t the heat. Rin rubbed his eyes. 

As he opened them again, he saw Jaleel free himself and plunge forward. Seyjur jumped, but the Rat was faster. He came between Rin and the Vizier with his spear readied. 

With a perturbing sound, a voice of pain, Jaleel’s torso swallowed the metal head of the spear almost entirely. 

Zeb pushed the Vizier down on his knees with one single motion, and rammed the spear as far as it went. 

On uncle’s face Rin could read pang and surprise. Terror. It seemed surreal the way the spear went through his stomach, the blood that gushed around it, and the blood that came from uncle’s mouth, onto his red beard. The moans of pain seemed familiar. 

The sounds of a dying man, blood. The wheezes. Rin remembered that kid, the Rat who died. Then he heard himself sob. 

Zeb released the spear, and uncle Jaleel’s head sank forward. The spear slowed the fall of his upper body. As if slaying a lamb, Zeb lifted Jaleel’s head and cut his throat. 

Rin fell on his knees and covered his face with his hands. 

“Little Rin,” said Nagi, embracing him. 

“Rin,” said Rayn. 

Rin kept sobbing. He was shaking. Why was he shaking? His voice sounded as if he had been cut and impaled himself.

“If you would lead armies, than stand,” said Seyjur.

Still wailing with almost no tears, Rin stood. Rayn and Little Nagi aided him, and he did not have the strength to push them away. 

“Every soldier loses something that is precious to him,” said Seyjur. “A soldier who doesn’t mourn anything is either one gone mad, or dead. Never underestimate war and the art that comes with it. Do you understand?” He hit Rin’s shoulder with his fist. “What are your orders now, Meerza?” 

Rin couldn’t reply.  
Why he was here, in the middle of Alamas with one of his kin dead by his feet, and with another one asking orders? Yet from the depths of terror and the quakes of his body, there came the clarity. He was here because of Alamas and Sarimah needed water, because he and Haru and Gohar and everyone else needed to live, and because father needed peace. He was here to take the place that rightfully belonged to him. He was here to protect what he lived for. 

“Any new reports from the messengers?” Rin said. “If we have not received news from around the Gate of Dancing Sand, we should inquire about it. We must find Aarif. I want him brought before me. Chain him, this time. Now take the corpse away, but keep it safe. I will think later what to do with it. Rayn, you repeat all the reports to me so far.” 

Seyjur bowed and began conversing with another soldier, another messenger, perhaps. 

Rin tried his best to listen to Rayn’s account, but something, either the sun or the noise or the grief kept his mind adrift. What would Haru say if he were awake?

“It’s fine, little Rin,” said Nagi. “You did well.” 

Without tears, Rin sobbed once more. 

 

Not long after that the soldiers brought him uncle Aarif, bound arm and foot. 

“They caught him at the main gate, Meerza,” said a soldier. “He was trying to flee the city.”

Seyjur tapped the hilt of his sword. “What would you do with him, Rinaz?” 

Without looking at Aarif, Rin ordered the soldiers to take the uncle away and keep him under custody. 

“You accursed demon spawn,” he heard from behind, from the lips of his eldest uncle. 

It didn’t matter. 

“Gag him,” Rin said, “I would not listen to him now.” His sympathy for the uncles had been spent, as had the vexation and worry over their presence, and he would not let them come alive now.

Eventually they would lead Aarif to the dungeons, where he would wait for justice if he survived the conditions in the jail. This old, frail man was perhaps the greediest of them all, but unable to twist reality into plots as the Vizier, and for that he was allowed to live. Strange, wasn’t it? The one who had lured and instigated would live, and the one who had succumbed to said lures was dead. The prison would not be kind to Aarif’s health, yet there was no reason why it should be. No reason at all.  
The swelter from the sun poked into Rin’s flesh and bones. If only the battles, or at least the day, would be over soon… 

Seyjur paced up and down the street. 

“It must be difficult for you to see your own brethren like this,” Rayn said. 

“It’s not only that,” said Seyjur. “Something is amiss.” A curse escaped his lips. “They wouldn’t… Let us head toward the Weeping Stones, quickly.” He barked his orders to his officer, and the officer in turn barked them to the others. He backed his horse again.

“Our pace is too slow,” Seyjur said. 

“What worries you, uncle?” said Rin. 

Seyjur gritted his teeth. “What the Marid scholar said earlier, this worries me.” 

As they turned round the corner, Seyjur gave command to all to halt.

Ahead, at the end of the street, there waited an army in same uniforms as their own. 

“Reinforcements?” said Nagi. 

“I think a fight is imminent,” said Seyjur. 

“There you are, Seyjur. Join under me,” called a man on a horse in front of them, “and there will be no bloodshed but for the royal punk. What say you?” His voice was as strong as his build, and it spread over the men on the street in ripples. Judging by the uniform, he was one of Seyjur’s lower officers. 

Smaller units were best suited for the city, perhaps, but precisely such division had allowed treachery. Like the body that still twitched and moved after the head had been severed, now their enemies moved toward them. 

Behind Rin and still on horse, Zeb thrust the head of his spear into the sand. “Red-eyed Basha needn’t fear. Rat knows of war.”

That didn’t calm Rin, however. 

“What is his name?” Rin asked, leaning toward Seyjur.

“He has no more a name. Get off the horse, you’re too easy to spot,” Seyjur whispered and then called loudly, “The Vizier is dead. Abide by the laws of Alamas and beg forgiveness of your Prince, and I will ask Meerza to spare you.”

“Who needs the Vizier?” called the officer in reply. “There are others. There is I.” 

The silence that followed was disturbed only by the occasional chinks of swords and whispers. 

Rin, the Marids, and Zeb dismounted. 

“Are you afraid, Seyjur Mushir?” yelled the officer. “Do you want to run?”

“Do not be baited,” Rin said, but perhaps that was unnecessary; Seyjur was taking in the details of their predicament and their options, or least Rin was hoping uncle Seyjur was doing that.

“Seyjur Mushir, another group of soldiers is coming from the other side,” said a man. 

“Led by?” said Seyjur and turned back. He spat on the ground and snarled. No, more than a snarl it was a grin. “We have no clear way of retreat. Today you will get rid of several traitors, Rinaz.” He leaned downwards and smacked Rin’s shoulder. “Be glad.” Next he beckoned to an officer. “Bring me four men to act as messengers.”

Without being asked to, Rayn brought pen and paper. “You will be needing this, won’t you?” 

Nodding, Seyjur gave a few pieces of paper to Rin. “Write to Amameera and Ghorozang about the ambush, and make a copy for the other leaders.”

Swiftly Rin scribbled a coded letter to Ama and plain ones to others. 

Seyjur explained where and to whom the letters should be delivered. “On my command you will start running through the side allies, and bring the messages as ordered. Go afoot to avoid attention, but if later you find any, take a horse on your way,” he said. 

Then his voice rose. “In formation. Everyone in formation, now. Turn your vests the other way round. If you wear leather armor, strip to cloth,” 

Rin frowned, but quickly he understood. At least that way they could distinguish their own soldiers.

From both sides the armies were already advancing. 

“Where are the musketeers?” yelled Seyjur. “One third shall stay here. Now, the rest shall find position one on the left and one on right; go to the top of the houses, and fire from there, or fire from the windows. Take down the doors if you need to. You hear me?” 

He waved his right hand. “First rows, hold your position.”

In front of them and behind, a line of soldiers with shields and spears formed.

“Hold,” said Seyjur, “Hold!”

The first arrow was fired, the first bullet shot. 

Rin kept glancing back and forth.  
The closest enemy rows either fell or broke formation, but after brief instants of confusion, the next row was already advancing, pushed by those behind it. 

How long would the musketeers need to recharge their weapons? Did Seyjur use any specific tactic to rotate which unit fired and which recharged? Most of all, for how long could he hope to keep the enemies at distance on both sides?

“Advance,” said Seyjur.

Soon the armies mingled, and the ropeman got mixed with the archer, and allies and enemies looked about the same. Rin could not tell who was hitting whom, and which cries should gladden him and which should make him sad and worried. 

The artillery fired, each soldier up to his own mind, each time with a mighty sound. Wisps of smoke and pungent smells began to spread. The muskets fell silent again for a long time, or at least it seemed long compared to bows and swords and deaths on the street.

Rin thought that already it was obvious that the wars of future would be fought with muskets, and coordinated differently; wars would adapt to the new weapons. Once the musket would have become a quicker thing to load... It gave Rin a paltry semblance of composure to asses that, a way to imagine himself removed from this approaching tempest. Keep calm.

Seyjur rode to him. “Stay back now, Rinaz,” he said. “If the need arises, run and save yourself. Surviving is your first duty. Ride away. Take the Marids.” To the four messengers, he ordered, “Run now, nobody will pay heed to you.” 

He gave Rin a formal salute, as a Mushir would to a Sultan or a Prince. 

Rin kept his hands on the hilt of his talwar, thinking which events were most likely to pass, and which course of actions he, the Crown prince, should take. He bit his lower lip and clenched his left hand into a fist. 

With his gaze he followed the messengers until they disappeared into the smaller alleys. 

“Just to be certain,” Rin said, glancing at Rayn and Nagi, “none of you can use magic, or can you?” 

“No,” said Rayn, browsing the contents of his bag. “Only one person can, but he sleeps.” 

“Is there no way to wake him?” Rin glanced at Seyjur, who was yelling at the troops and pointing forward with his sword. 

“No, little Rin,” said Nagi. “Even if we could wake little Haru, we must not do anything of the kind.” 

“Indeed,” Rayn said. “Our magic represents the benevolent powers of water, not its destructive side. All these years, the Marids didn't use their magic for destruction or death. They guarded it at the cost of their lives. Do you know why? Destroying is easy, building is not.”

It would make sense to Rin in other times, perhaps, but not now. “If destroying is easy,” he said, “then all the more reason to use the magic. Why shouldn't we? We have need of it.”

“Because after destroying, it becomes even more difficult to rebuild,” Rayn said slowly, as if explaining to a stubborn child. “The water spirits gave our tribe their magic to offset the deserts. That is the pact; as long as we kept water pure, as long as we act as a counterbalance for the deserts, we can bring the marids’ blessings to everyone in need. If you abuse such magic in any way...you've seen what happens. Do you think it's easy to clean poisonous water? Do you think it’s easy to bring water from sand?”

Rin thought of Amameera’s words. He thought how the journey of a Sha’ir mimicked that of the rivers, and how a Sha’ir could and should reflect the diversity of the movements that the water made, the multitude of its nature. Then Rin knew that they were wrong, and he was right.  
Not today, perhaps, but in future Haru could learn for himself every nuance of water. Rin could be Haru’s aid as Haru was his. Just as there were things Rin himself couldn’t do, and needed Haru to do them instead, likewise there were things Haru could not do, and therefore needed Rin to do them for him. They could learn from each other, as well. Because of their connection, they could change each other from head to toe, yet still remain the same. Because of the way the affected each other, the world changed for them. They could love and fight and learn and pursue what their hearts coveted most. Together they were what they alone could never be. It was as simple as that.  
Power. There was power in that. From the thought where it was born, power emblazed Rin’s entire body. He grinned. 

“We can do this,” he said.

It was unusual, mayhap, to think of Haru while armies were storming around them with arrows, shots, swords, and cries alike, and while soon not even he and the Marids would be safe, yet there were truths to be found in fear and confusion. He stood in the eye of the storm. 

“Yes, we can,” said Rayn, giving round packages to Nagi. 

“The eastern ones?” Nagi said, and Rayn nodded. 

“I forgot to bring more than half of the things we’ll need,” said Rayn with a sigh. 

He and Nagi both took a scimitar in hand. Rayn checked again that his musket was ready. The soldiers and the chaos were pressing in, closer and closer, and soon the eye of the storm would implode, leaving them to the mercy of their skills, their enemies, and their luck.

“Protect the Prince,” someone called. 

Rin couldn’t find where Seyjur was anymore. 

“Stay close,” he said to Nagi and Rayn. 

Their horses were neighing and trying to tear away. One of them escaped. 

The wave of soldiers was not pushing into him, for they came too unorganized to resemble a single wave; the clashes of war were brutal, chaotic and dissevered.

Zeb pulled the reins of his horse and mounted it. He released the other mounts, prodded them with his spear and cries, urging them to run forward. The horses ran and trampled those in their path. In the mob, Rin’s horse fell on its forelegs, its neck and sides cut by blades. It neighed and trashed and didn’t rise again. 

Rin drew his blade. 

Would they survive? 

‘Fear led you right to me, as it was foretold. You did your work for me,’ said Death. 

No. Silly tale. Rin clenched his free hand into a fist. That was not his story. He would not be that prince. He would live. With Haru, with everyone he would live. 

“Rat will go ahead,” Zeb said. 

Ahorse and with his spear, he emptied and commanded a larger area than a sword would. Nevertheless, soldiers were coming from the other side, as well. From all sides. 

Rin couldn’t tell which were there to protect him and which to harm him. He couldn't focus. One soldier lunged after him, yet another barred the soldier’s way. 

“Little Rayn,” said Nagi. 

“Yes,” said Rayn. 

Nagi threw one of the round parcels on the ground. 

Rin looked in Nagi’s direction, but smoke began to cover his vision. In a matter of moments, he couldn’t see at all. What was happening? Another fire? It was irritating his eyes, nose, and even his mouth. He walked through the fog, coughing and avoiding hits and bodies he didn’t see.

He heard Nagi’s voice call to him, “Stay here, Little Rin, you’ll be safer here,” but Rin had no idea where the ‘here’ was anymore, nor how to reach it.

Finally he left the smoke behind. 

Rin found himself at the center of the battle.

Everything he had ever learned was insufficient. While there were movements that his body had learned, he was not adjusted to any of this…the way the soldiers moved, the sides from which the blows came, the screams, the wounds, the severed body parts. He did not have time to think. He had to be vigilant with all his senses for each swing and step and gaze. Instead of thoughts, frenzy and fear reigned in him, instead of thinking, he screamed. 

An arrow landed close to him, and another pierced the neck of his attacker. Archers. Rin looked up.

Atop one building, there stood an archer in the red uniform of the bostanji corps. 

Rin’s heart stopped beating for a moment. 

Gohar. Was that Gohar? No, what would she be doing here? He fended off one soldier and glimpsed toward the roof again. 

The bostanji took aim, and the arrow flew in Rin’s direction. Right next to Rin, a wounded soldier released his weapon at the impact. Rin kicked the men and pushed the sword in his stomach.

It was her. She should not be here. It was dangerous. Again he glanced up and waved his hand, hoping she’d understand. 

“Go,” he said.

Why was she…

A spasm shook his skull. His vision went dark with pain. 

A bang. He heard a bang then. It was as loud as if someone had fired a musket right next to his ears. 

Rin opened his eyes to see someone with a bloodied sword fall. Or was that a cudgel?

“Basha,” said Zeb, already fighting his way toward him. 

So many feet, so many bloodied corpses. Too much movement, everyone was moving. 

“Rin,” said someone else. 

Rin followed the voice. There was Rayn, perhaps, with his musket, and then there were street tiles and sand in front of him. He was on his knees. Drops of red were falling onto the yellow of sand. Pain was clutching him, crushing his temples together.

He wanted to get up, but his legs, his arms wouldn’t listen. His entire body was a cramp of agony, a searing, overwhelming pain he could not escape.

“Rin!”

He tried to reply, yet no word came out of his mouth. 

The sand became blurry, the sounds distorted. The world turned upside down, and there were yellows and blues and dots of other colors.  
The sun was bright, bright.  
Haru…  
His breathing was the loudest thing in the world. Ache pervaded his entire consciousness. It was tearing his head apart. Constringing him twinge after twinge. It wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.  
Then there was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Sorry for any mistakes. 
> 
> There are several more notes about the fic I originally intended to share. I'll see if I'll add them in the next chapter or if I'll just let it be as it is. 
> 
> One more to go, huff, huff.


	19. For the Beauty of Our Own Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is borrowed from Tom Robbins' quote: “Let us live for the beauty of our own reality.”

A distant echo, a lullaby resounded in his ears. He focused on it, following the words he had heard as a child, and the melody lifted him from torpor.

“Meerza.” Thus came another voice. “Look, he’s waking up again.”

The lullaby died out.

Nizamat was watching him. “My Prince.”

“Where am I?” Rin said. He noticed Gohar and Amameera, as well. 

A headache squeezed his temples. More than a headache, it was as though his body belonged to someone else, not him. His head, arms, and legs were confused about what they perceived and what they should do. Every sound and light irritated his core. 

This was in his bedchamber, without a doubt. 

He poked at the bandages that covered his left eye. 

“No, leave it,” said Gohar. “The doctor said you better rest, remember?”

“Rest?” Rin said, blinking with his right eye. At the corners, his vision was a blur, and though he tried to focus and roll his eyes, the fog followed his gaze. 

“What happened?” said Rin. “Haru, where is Haru?”

“You’ve already asked that, brother,” said Gohar, aiding him to sit. “He still sleeps.”

“And Alamas?” Rin dragged himself to the brink of his bed.

“Still standing.” That was Amameera’s voice. “Still yours.”

“Is it over, then?” said Rin. 

Gohar sighed.

“Yes, my Prince,” said Amameera. “You may rest easily. Aarif awaits in jail. The Vizier is no more. I struck a bargain with Haman in your name, I hope you'll forgive me. It was too dangerous leaving him in prison despite your army. He is free, and your treasury is richer. The terms might have seemed generous enough for him, but with time they will work in your favor more than his, yet.” 

“What?” Rin said. He had heard the words, but part of the meaning had eluded him. 

Amameera brushed his cheek. “Then let us speak more of that later, once you will feel better. We’ll speak of Queen’s Izdihaar proposal when you will be able to listen. Now, before you ask once more, the Marids are safe, your Queen Mother is safe, and the concubine with her son is well guarded.”

Rin tried to get up, and Amameera assisted him. “The windows,” Rin said, waddling toward the light. 

Even from the palace, the remains of fire were still visible in the early light. In the north, wisps of smoke were winding toward the sky, as a giant hand of a dying jinni. 

Fragments of events he could recall; uncle Jaleel’s twisted face, the blood, and the soldiers. 

Haru was still sleeping. 

“How many days have passed?” Rin said. 

“Brother, that didn’t change since the last time you woke up,” said Gohar. 

Amameera chuckled. “I will start to wonder if we should call for the doctor again.”

“Yesterday they brought you back to the palace,” said Nizamat, “and yesterday my Meerza was hurt.” 

It had been done in one day, then.

“Lie down,” said Ama, leading him back to the bed. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Wait,” Rin said. “Everything…Sarimah. Tell me, tell me everything.”

Gohar exchanged a glance with Amameera and Nizamat. 

“Alamas is safe for now, as are we. There is some unrest in the cities close to the borders,” Gohar said in a soothing voice, “and Uncle Seyjur went with the army to settle it.” 

“He took the army?” Rin said. Would that be good news or bad?

“One third of it, the rest he entrusted to your command, brother, and to Ghorozang until you woke,” Gohar said. 

Rin wondered how Gohar, or mayhap Ghorozang, had managed to convince Seyjur to leave two thirds of the army, and whether Seyjur was still worthy of trust, but then he decided those questions were too difficult to be answered now. 

“See?” Gohar’s eyes twinkled. “Even Seyjur accepts you as the Sultan. Brother, you’ve done it.”

“I’m not Sultan yet, am I? What happened? To me,” said Rin. He knitted his brow. “You were…I’ve seen you on the roof. Why were you there?”

“I was helping you,” Gohar said. Her fingers dug into her skirt and played with its fabric. She cast her gaze downwards.

“You should have stayed in the Broken End,” said Rin. “It would have been easier.”

“I’m sorry, brother,” said Gohar, raising her head, pleading with the expression for him to understand. She would not achieve it so easily. Rin could understand why he had had to follow danger, yet there had been no good reason for the Princess to do the same. Not for his little sister. 

“I only wanted to help,” Gohar said. “I was worried for you.”

“And I was worried for you,” Rin said. 

“You are both sound and hale, and for now let’s content ourselves with that,” Ama said. “Besides, Rin, you cannot blame your own lack of focus on others.”

“Lack of focus?” said Rin, clenching his fists. As he thought how to reply, the headache knocked on his skull with renewed strength, and he sighed, deciding this was another subject too difficult to handle at the present moment. 

In the end, fear for the life of others could be as detrimental for his survival as the fear for his own life. At least he was alive, unlike that prince from the tale. Contrary to that prince, Rin had escaped death. 

He took a good look at everyone in his room; everyone seemed worried for him, everyone’s face was burdened with lack of sleep. 

“You should rest, too,” Rin said to Nizamat. Where was the new servant boy? “Ask Safa to be vigil in your place. Why should he slack off?” 

“Meerza,” Nizamat said, “Meerza.” A hint of tears lined his eyes. “My Prince doesn’t know.” 

“What? Know what?” Rin said. “Did he run away?” 

Gohar tried to cover him with sheets. “Perhaps it would be better to leave it for later, brother, just rest.” 

“Leave what for later?” Again Rin was trying to rise.

Amameera sat on the bed. “Later or now, it won’t be any prettier either way.” 

“Prettier? Would someone speak some sense?” Rin said. 

They kept silence.

At last Ama spoke. “I don’t know the details, but that servant of yours was killed in your chambers.”

“What?” said Rin. “By whom? How? I told him to leave the palace before the dawn.” 

“I’m guessing he didn’t.” Not as much as a shrug of shoulders from Amameera. “Or they might have come before the dawn, sensing something amiss. Mayhap they wanted to obtain information of your whereabouts, for his body showed signs of torture.”

Torture? What kind of torture? 

‘One that had led to death,’ something inside Rin answered. He wished to close his ears and eyes and mind. 

Frantically he looked around his chamber. Nothing was different from usual, and only one rug was missing. Then, right in that spot…

“There was no need to say that,” said Gohar.

“Yes, there was.” Ama’s voice rose. “He was your personal servant, Rin. If someone dies for you, honor his death. You are not a child anymore. You are a Prince and will be Sultan soon. Moreover, think of the scale. Do you know how many people died yesterday? In your name?”

“Stop,” Rin said. He pushed Amameera away. “Shut up. Shut up.” 

She was right, but soldiers lived to die, and food testers did, too, not servant boys. The first were only numbers, nameless faces, flesh in human form, and Rin understood well the reason and the meaning of their deaths. Safa was not one of them; he was not nameless anymore. Rin had already learned his name. 

“I told him to leave,” Rin said. “What kind of information was he supposed to have? He’s just a kid, a brat who… Why would…”

Safa was only a clumsy kid, a kid afraid even of ghosts…and then… He had been tortured. Why would they torture a stupid, silly kid like him? There was a shameful moment, when he felt glad that Safa died and not one of the Marids. Then there came reason for more shame. This wouldn’t have happened if Rin had considered his situation more carefully. 

“It is my fault, I should have taken him with us,” said Rin. “I should have known. He can’t carry out properly a single order. He’s only a…”

Amameera said something, but Rin couldn’t follow at all. 

Before the tears came, a splitting pain, like an axe into his brain, choked him. He lay back, and he could only inhale and exhale, only wait and suffer. In the battle between grief and physical pain, the latter won. As if the body itself was urging him to stop thinking, thus the ache ensnared and tortured his every sense. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale.

At least Safa would not be afraid of ghosts anymore. Mayhap he was a ghost himself…

Someone took his hand, and the lullaby began again, a low, gentle voice, a memory from the times when he was little. 

 

The chamber bathed in sunrays when Rin came to his senses. Next to him Nizamat was sleeping. Someone else must have been speaking, then, and that someone else had wakened Rin. This was his bedchamber, wasn’t it? Rin’s body was tired, laden with sluggish, dazed ache. He looked around.

“No, you’ve already had your portion,” said Rayn. He and Little Nagi were sitting on the sofa and engaging in either a chat or a quarrel. 

In a corner stood a shadow—Zeb.

Rin poked Nizamat, who shot up immediately. 

“My Meerza,” Nizamat said and embraced Rin’s knees. “You’re awake.” 

“What are you doing?” said Rin. “Where is Haru?” 

“Little Haru still sleeps,” said Nagi, snatching a piece of lokum from Rayn’s hands. 

What was going on?

Makeen came through the door and smiled. “I see at least one of the two is awake. How are you, Rin?” 

“I don’t know.” Rin made a vague shrug with his shoulders. “What of Alamas?” he said then because he remembered Jaleel coughing up blood, and then…Gohar, was there Gohar on the roof?

Rin scanned the chamber with his eyes. “Gohar? Where is she?”

“The Princess rests.” Rayn slapped Nagi’s fingers away from the plate in front of them.

“Is she hurt?” Swiftly Rin jumped up on his feet. His body reminded him that he shouldn’t have.

“No, Meerza, she is fine. It was Safa who…” Nizamat said, offering an arm for support.

Rin sat on the bed again. “Safa.”

Safa was dead. 

‘Because of my mistake,’ Rin thought. ‘Because of me; inevitably my life takes others.’

It was strange to think that without Rayn’s prodding, he wouldn’t even have called the servant by the name, not once. Safa. Perhaps Rin wouldn’t even have thanked him.  
Safa. 

‘People die,’ Rin thought. ‘People die at odd times. Some for no good reason. There is no meaning, there is no justice. Shouldn’t there be more to life? Days go by, and people die futile deaths, and people are born to die futile deaths.’ 

“Why?” Rin said. 

As his eyes burned with tears, his headache returned. It pounded at his skull. Rin tried to draw in slow, deep breaths, but they came to him as shaky gulps of air. Even in pain he couldn’t afford tears. Yet Safa must have felt more pain, infinitely more. 

“You should drink a bit, Meerza,” said Nizamat, taking hold of Rin’s hands. “You should drink and rest. Should I ask for your favorite dishes to be brought to you, my Prince?” 

Meanwhile Makeen had already offered a cup of water, saying, “Here,” and Rin drank from it. 

Why hadn’t he brought Safa with him? Why hadn’t Safa left? Rin should have taken the boy out of the palace; he had known Safa was bad at following orders.  
He was only a stupid kid, a stupid kid with eyes like the sky, with clumsy hands, and with a whole life waiting for him. 

“August Prince, august Prince,” resounded in Rin’s ears. 

The august Prince had let him die. 

‘He didn’t have to die. Die tortured of all things.’ 

“They will pay,” Rin said.

If the murderers still lived, they would be found and trialed. Safa’s name would be listed among the honored ones, and once things would settle, one of his younger siblings would be trained as scholar. That was how it would be.

“You should go easy with such words, Rin,” said Makeen. “You are well in your right to think as you do, but do not forget how your actions might affect the ones you love, the ones still living.”

Rin twitched. He thought of Haru, of Gohar, of Makeen and the others in his chamber, and of Amameera. It would be foolish indeed if he let his anger chip away even a bit of their happiness or their safety. 

He was not a child anymore. Instead he was Prince, and hopefully Sultan in short. It was time his thoughts and actions reflected that. 

“What happened after I…when I was wounded?” said Rin. 

“What happened? You were stupid, little Rin, that happened,” said Nagi, lifting his index finger. “You went right into the fray, remember? Soon after you were hit.”

“No,” said Rin. “What happened?”  
Instead of seeing images, he felt only a vague doubt, a mixture of estrangement and curiosity, as if he had just heard something that might have happened, but also might have not. 

“Well, we carried you to safety,” said Nagi, “as much safety as there was, and our reinforcements arrived just in time, so... And then you woke up and ran toward the enemy soldiers, little Rin.” Nagi took a few steps closer to the bed, sat down on the floor, and crossed his legs. “You looked a bit scary, actually. With your teeth and blood and that crazy expression.” His knees bobbed up and down. “You screamed like you were being murdered. You’ve cut down a few soldiers, too.”

“Truly?” Rin said. It would be of poor taste if the Marids were playing a joke on him, but Rin couldn’t think why they would. 

Next to him Makeen huffed in discomfort.

“You seemed possessed,” said Rayn, “I feared you would die there, but Zeb dragged you back, and then we held you.”

From a corner of the chamber, someone spoke. “Luckily we did, red-eyed Basha, or you would be dead. You were in no condition to fight.” 

Rin had forgotten that Zeb was even present. Or perhaps he had not been present before?

“Then I owe you my life once again,” said Rin, turning to the Rat. “Did Ama send you? Are you here to watch over me?”

Zeb nodded. 

“You know, little Rin,” said Little Nagi. “After that, rumors began to spread that the Prince is like a demon, with eyes and hair of blood, and those who will cross him will not live.” 

“I don’t remember,” Rin murmured. He sighed, unable to tell if such rumors were beneficial to him or the opposite. Even if he tried to follow in his memory the path of events from the moment he had seen Gohar, there wasn’t much to follow. “Did I…did I deliver a speech at some point?”

Rayn coughed. “You tried to. Two sentences are not enough to be called a speech, perhaps, but it was touching enough.”

“Really?” said Rin. “Bring me a mirror,” he whispered to Nizamat. “What did I say?”

“Well, the gist of it was to fight in order not to fight again, I believe,” Rayn said. 

It didn’t sound particularly heroic and neither it sounded particularly inspiring. Rin began taking off his bandages. “I’m glad I don’t remember.” He looked at his reflection. 

“What have they done to Meerza?” said Nizamat, his voice heated.

“Hm, yes, it doesn’t look that nice, but it’s better than before, I must say,” said Little Nagi.

"Really?" Rin said.

His left eye was slightly swollen, but he was able to open it without much effort. Underneath the eyelid it was completely tinted with red, like an orb of blood, red on red. 

He could see well, however, and move his eye. His eyebrow sported a cut that deepened into bruised, mildly tattered skin on his temple and above. The sight of the strange shape and the dark red-brownish color made his flesh crawl. 

If he had jumped in with eyes like these and with blood rushing down his face, it was no wonder they had called him a demon. Perhaps he could find a way to use it, to use the rumors. 

“We should change the bandages, my Prince,” said Nizamat, close to tears again. 

Makeen took the fresh bandages from Nizamat’s hands and prepared to tend Rin’s wound. 

To distract himself from the incoming ache, Rin said, “You’re squeamish of ghosts and fights, but not of wounds?” Then he added, “And don’t cover the eye.” 

“Hm,” said Makeen. “I’m not fond of blood and wounds either.” He inhaled loudly, his gaze fleeting from Rin’s eyes to his forehead. “Yet I think I can do at least this much, since I was not present when it had occurred. I’m sorry for…not being present.”

“It probably wouldn’t have gone any different,” Rin whispered. 

Rayn nudged Makeen to move. “I can tend to this task, so you needn’t force yourself.” 

“No,” Makeen said. “I will finish it. I can.” 

Instead of explaining that there was no need for an apology, not with words and not by actions, Rin nodded. “Just be careful.” 

With trembling fingers Makeen began cleaning Rin’s wound. 

Rin could have called for the physician, of course, but even if Makeen feared the sight of blood, he had undoubtedly seen and tended to many wounds in his life. It was better this way.

“Thank you,” whispered Rin, and Makeen smiled as a way of reply. 

After the wound had been freshly dressed, Rin said, “Nizamat, could you call everyone to the Divan’s meeting? Now. You’ll accompany me. And call Gohar, too.”

“Now?” Nizamat waited for further explanation, but Rin motioned toward the door. “Fine, Meerza,” Nizamat said and left. 

“What do you intend to do?” said Rayn. “The qanat and the oasis are not fully restored yet.”

Rin shrugged. “That will not play a role today, I think. No, I can assure you it will not.” He found in himself the will and strength to grin. He would not run nor hide anymore. “For now I would not vex you with this, yet once the water will flow freely in the qanat, I’d like you to join my councilors. Sarimah need more scholars like you. Think about it.”

“Then I don’t need to think.” Rayn smiled and came close enough to shake Rin’s hand. “I accept.”

 

In company of Gohar and Niazamat, Rin joined the advisers. His new shadow, Zeb, walked close behind him. The hall was full not only with scholars, but Rin’s soldiers, as well.

“My councilors,” Rin said, “my wise men. Sit.” 

Without the Vizier and Aarif, they appeared more docile, or perhaps that was only the effect of the soldiers. The councilors were glimpsing at them in alarm.

“It is a tragic thing that happened…yesterday.” He sat on a rich wooden chair he had ordered brought from another chamber especially for this meeting. Next to him, Zeb came to stand astride with a girdled scimitar, with a spear in hand, and a menacing expression on his face. 

The scholars were looking at Rin’s bandages and eyes, whispering, cowering, and knitting their brows.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Vizier’s treason and the betrayal of scholar Aarif,” Rin said. “The same way that they betrayed my father, so they betrayed me.” He leaned forward. “Yet the spirits were merciful and would have me live. We should thank them for it, do you not agree?”

The Hall of Truth remained in silence. 

“You don’t agree, then, I take it,” said Rin. 

The hall began to bluster with voices. “Meerza be blessed. The spirits saved Meerza. The jinn have blessed our Sultan.”

Rin rose from the chair. “As the spirits commanded, so I will take the throne.” Two steps he made toward the scholars. “If there is anyone who thinks that my trial was not successful, or that I do not deserve the title of Sultan Rinaz III, let him stand now.”

Zeb played with the spear, passing it from one hand to the other. Among the soldiers, someone unsheathed his scimitar.

“It is not good to threaten the Divan with violence,” one of the scholars, the eldest, said. “We are your councilors, not your enemies. When a ruler closes the scholars’ mouth and mind with weapons, he becomes nothing but a tyrant. My Prince needs to think how he will rule this country, lest the tragedy repeats.”

The eldest he was, and prone to justice and law. In his words, there was not opposition to Rin, but if Rin heeded the advice of the scholar, the rest of the Divan would use it for opposition.

“This chain of things that are not good, I wonder who started it.” Rin crouched in front of the old man. “I didn’t. It might have happened already in your time, or perhaps earlier. It is also not good to threaten a Prince with violence, or a Sha’ir, but so it came to pass. A tragedy was almost repeated, not by my hand, but instead by yours, by your idle chatter and obedience to the Vizier.” He rose to his feet. “Will you not think of Sarimah first? Aren’t you old enough to do that?”

Slowly he walked back to his chair. If he stood for too long, he might get dizzy. “How will you counsel me, when you can’t even warn me in the time of peril? Are you so short-sighted, or so treacherous?” 

The scholars started talking one over another.

“Silence,” Rin yelled. His head throbbed with ache. The blurry dots in front of his eyes worsened.

Zeb knocked with the blunt part of his spear against the floor. The scholars hushed and looked at each other and at the soldiers.

Safa was kinder, more useful than them, and younger he was, with his entire life yet to live. Yet they were alive, while Safa was dead. 

Where was justice in that?

These old men, each unworthy of trust, still lived.

Let them fear for every word that would come out of their mouth, for the slightest of the moves they make. Let them feel how it is to wonder day by day if and whence the blow would come. Since they would not feel the pain of the lives their actions had taken, at least let them savor the dread of uncertainty for a while.  
They would deserve more, trial and punishment, perhaps even death, but that would not be favorable for Alamas and Sarimah. Sarimah needed order and stability. It needed water, not more blood.  
That order the soldiers would provide. 

“You have demonstrated to me convincingly why a ruler would want to dissolve the Divan,” Rin said. “That my father ruled without you and your likes speaks just as much of you as it did of him. What counsel can you offer? Tell me now, convince me, what can you offer to me and Alamas? You’re good with words, so this should pose no troubles to you. If your actions have been just and benevolent until now, you will have plenty of arguments. Speak.”

One of the scholars stood from their ranks, but Rin raised his hand. “Careful, my councilors, careful now. One by one you will speak in the next days to prove your worth, and if your words will not begin with the promise to renounce your water pay and a third of your properties back to Sarimah, I fear I will not hear you.”

“That’s preposterous,” said a small, fat scholar. “Meerza, that is going too far. We are innocent in the matter of the rebellion.”

“Yes,” said Rin, “and if instead me the Vizier presided the meeting today, you would be also innocent.  
Yes, it is preposterous. It is preposterous that you were allowed to gather riches from the suffering of my people. That is my fault, and I admit I went too far, just as you said. I will make amend for that, and you’d do well to follow my example. If you can take without giving in return, Sarimah doesn’t need you. What shall it be? Will you do your duty or will you not?”

He signaled for Gohar to come closer. 

“Sit, little sister,” he said and vacated the chair for her. “I don’t’ think I could judge you fairly now. Instead of me, my sister, the Princess, and my delegate here, Nizamat, will judge you. Not only will they be fairer, they will likely show more mercy.”

“A woman has no place in the Divan,” said one councilor. 

“You have it wrong,” Rin said. “Remember, this is the person who will judge you. It is your place in the Divan that is under discussion. Until your position is determined, you are not allowed to leave the palace. I give one day for each of you, and I hope to see you again in my Divan when you’ve cleansed your name of doubts.” He offered them a grin, one with more threat than joy. “Besides, you, my councilors, are wise enough to make a scholar out of a monkey, how easier must it be to counsel a Princess?” Rin said. “You already know the scholar Nizamat, but from now on I’d like you to address him as Vizier Nizamat.”

“Meerza,” said Nizamat. “I’m not…”

“You’d do well to listen to him attentively,” Rin said. Then he turned to Nizamat. 

“I can’t do this, Meerza,” whispered Nizamat. “I don’t know how to.”

Rin brushed a tuft of uneven hair under Nizamat’s cap. “Then you will learn to. Your hair is as grey as either the councilor here, or more, and what’s underneath matches and surpasses each scholar. I’ve read your reports, and I know your value. If you do not trust yourself, then trust me and my judgment. Now don’t shame me in front of the men you will judge.”

“Yes, Meerza,” said Nizamat. “I mean, no, Meerza, I will not shame you. I will do my duty the best I can.”

With a tiny bow Rin left, followed by Zeb. 

“Is this wise?” said Gohar, coming after him.

“Why not? It’s certainly wiser than let them go unchecked. If Amameera will want to join the Divan, she’ll have her wish, as well.”

“But will they listen?” said Gohar.

“With the support of soldiers, they would listen even to a monkey, and you, my sister, are far from being a monkey.” Rin laughed, but a pang in his skull made him stop abruptly. 

“Are you all right?” Gohar said. “Perhaps the doctor should see you again.”

“I’m fine,” said Rin. “I am going to see the Marids. Zeb will also be with me, so you don’t need to worry.” 

More than any doctor, he wished to see Haru. He wished that Haru would open his eyes and looked at Rin, as well.

“If the Queen of Falaknaz can rule,” Rin said to Gohar, “why wouldn’t you in my absence? Besides, in that tale, was not Zumurrud, who was naught but a slave girl, made she-king? Then why should you not be king in my absence? Here, in my realm, you may write a tale even better, one as your heart desires.”

Gohar embraced him and let him go. 

Before Rin even reached the Marid’s chambers, he felt unsure on his feet. A sickness came over him, but he managed not to retch. Zeb had allowed him to walk alone. 

“Little Rin,” said Nagi. “How did it go?”

Rin dragged himself to Haru’s bed. 

“He has not awakened yet,” said Makeen.

“I can see that.” Rin climbed onto the bed and lay beside Haru. “I can see. Well, at least if we are to die, this way we die together.” He embraced Haru with one arm. 

It seemed to him that he had no strength left, and there was only this annoying throb in his head and body. 

“What are you saying, little Rin,” said Nagi, “you’re not going to die.”

“Did the wound worsen?” said Rayn. “Let’s call the physician.”

“Too loud,” Rin whispered, “too loud.”

Although not yet conscious, beside him Haru was alive and warm. Beside him Haru was alive.

 

The next time Rin woke again in the middle of the day, the same day, as Makeen told him. He still felt a strange soreness and dizziness, but it was better than before.

Haru was still sleeping. Rin kissed his lips, but Haru would not wake. 

“It’s not unusual,” said Makeen. 

“Yes,” said Rin, biting his worry, disappointment, and anger into his lower lip. 

Servants brought him a meal, dates and peeled oranges, and stew with allspice, rice, and vegetables, and Rin ate and shared with Makeen.  
After filling his stomach, and after drinking a cup of coffee, Rin felt the life returning to him. 

Makeen was still tearing apart orange slices. “You know, I…”

“What?” Rin said.

“No, nothing.” Makeen cast his yes down and put a fruit slice in his mouth. He glanced at one side of the chamber, where Zeb was standing.

After a while Makeen spoke again in a low voice, as if he were about to tell a secret. “When we were in those tunnels, me and Haru…I’ve attacked one of Amameera’s companions, one of the Rats.”

Rin decided it was better to wait than to open his mouth. 

“I thought he was about to attack us, so I lost my reason,” whispered Makeen. “I didn’t think I could…I could behave in such a way. It is not my role. I’m always the one who thinks and takes care of others, not the one who loses…” He swallowed down. “I’m calm usually.”

From the tone of his voice and the worried, ashamed expression on his face, Rin thought that Makeen had probably not shared this with Nagi and Rayn yet. 

“Forget your role,” said Rin. “You are what you are, and you don’t have to be anything less. There is no reason why you should always be what you usually are. Might not mean much coming from my mouth, but you shouldn’t be ashamed. What of the Rat?”

“We both lived,” said Makeen. 

“Then all is fine,” Rin said. 

Though he was tired, in his trembling limbs Rin felt that the curse had been lifted. There was power in his muscles. Not only that; despite the vague feeling of estrangement from his body, and the headache, his mind was lucid. 

“Calm waters reflect the sky, is it not so, Makeen?” he said. 

Makeen looked at him in confusion. 

“You can’t have calm without a storm every now and then. Besides, you were doing it to save Haru.” Rin brushed Haru’s arm. “Before he wakes, let us complete the work that he and you, the Marids, have begun. Rayn and Nagi are in Alamas, are they not?”

“They went to the oasis,” said Makeen. 

“Then let us go to aid them. I will ask Gohar and my guards to keep watch over Haru, so he will be safe and well cared for. It will do you no good if you keep waiting here, letting your mind rot with anxiety,” Rin said. 

“I’m not…” began Makeen, but Rin would not let him finish the sentence. “If this sleeping state is not unusual, as you say,” Rin said, “then you should perhaps trust his judgment more. He will wake when he will wake.”

Rin looked down at his hands. Had he truly said that? Those were almost the same words Nagi had told him, and now he had repeated them to Makeen. The lesson that Little Nagi and later Rayn tried to teach him, perhaps Rin could say now that he had learned. “I think Rayn can’t solve everything by himself, even if he is smart,” said Rin, “just as Haru couldn’t do it alone with magic.”

At that Makeen agreed, and Rin called Nizamat and Gohar. 

 

He and Makeen rode slowly to the oasis. The sun aggravated Rin’s headache, and riding did nothing for the queasiness in the stomach, but Rin didn’t wish to return. Zeb rode after them with a smaller group of guards; there was no such thing as excessive prudence. 

While at least some wells and fountains in Alamas were full, the pool of water here still did not deserve a naming better than half-oasis. Perhaps it was as Rayn had said, the entrances in the qanat were cleared, but the water level was still low. The wells still dry or noxious would need a different approach than magic, it appeared. 

Under the sun, the workers ran and dug diligently, following Rayn’s orders. 

Nagi waved and called already from afar. “Little Maki, Little Rin, what are you doing here?” 

“The same you’re doing,” Rin said. 

Although he had come with the intention to help, it was clear that he could not aid them in the current condition. 

Zeb made sure Rin sat in the shade, and Nagi pestered both to drink regularly.

Rin closed his eyes to rest. When he woke up, a dark tent was spreading above his head. 

“Where am I?” he said. 

“Good afternoon, little Rin,” said Nagi. He played with a small feather fan. “You finally woke up. Do you know how boring it is to watch over a sleeping person?” 

“Where am I? What time is it?” said Rin. It was much hotter than in the palace, and sweat was running down his neck.

“It’s afternoon, little Rin. You are outside the city, remember?” Nagi passed a gourd to him. “Here, drink.”

“Which day?” said Rin and gulped the warm water down. 

“Which day, what do you mean by which day? The same day you fell asleep. How hard did they hit you on the head?” He fanned Rin’s face. “Do you want to lie down again and rest?” 

“No,” said Rin. He got up and walked into the sun. Zeb moved away from the tent’s entrance to let him pass.

“It’s pretty isn’t it?” said Nagi, but Rin was able to see only whiteness. 

His eyes were slowly adjusting. Then he saw it. 

A resplendent, large pool of water in the sand, an oasis. 

“How is this possible?” said Rin. “How did you do it?”

“You should ask little Rayn.”

Rayn was giving orders to the workers. When he noticed Rin, he halted. 

“You,” Rin said to the first worker. “Go to Alamas and bring a message to Princess Gohar. Say the Crown Prince is sending you. The oasis has been restored.” He turned to Rayn again. “How did you do it?”

Rayn pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “The water magic did most of the work, I only needed to add a finishing touch; a little bit of Marids’ knowledge and a little bit of my own calculations. See how the water is clear already and not muddy at all? That’s because I’ve used a special technique to raise the water. You know, the angle and the arrangement of the holes in correlation to the composition of the layers and the subterranean…”

Rin placed a hand on Rayn’s shoulder. 

Was Rayn awaiting praise? The truth would suffice. 

“It’s beautiful,” Rin said. “One of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”

The sight father had wanted Rin to see must have been the same as Rin had wanted to show to Haru; a sight just like this one before their eyes. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Rayn said. 

Makeen said, “I’m glad we’ve come so far.”

“Let’s go for a swim, then,” Little Nagi said. “Go, go, go.” He took his clothes off and ran into the water like a merry child. 

“Wait for me.” Rayn said, disrobing and running at the same time, but his sirwal entangled between his feet, making him fall. Again he got up.

Rin peeled off his sweaty clothing as well, aided by Makeen. The water was hot, but not painfully so, and it felt good as it enclosed his body. He resisted the desire to immerse himself into it completely. Little Nagi and Rayn sprayed water at each other. Makeen laughed and joined in, but every now and then he glimpsed back at Rin to see if he was still all right. 

For everything Rin had lost, it seemed to him that he had also gained something. Water, Sarimah, brothers, and his love. Now if only Haru would decide to wake…

Rin cupped the clear water in his palms. Was this possible? Almost he could forget his headache. He stood in the oasis up to his waist, spread his arms, and let his body fall into water, back first. Water pervaded his senses, made him forget the ache. Water, water amidst the deserts. The corners of his mouth were going up by themselves. 

“Rin,” said Makeen, “you shouldn’t. Your wound will reopen.” 

Yet Rin had not seen his oasis rich with water for so long that he couldn’t care about the wound. The smarting and sickness were barely bothering him.  
He could swim and soak with the Marids in the oasis water until the cushions on his fingers would become ridged and his skin white and mellow. The sky itself seemed to laugh with mirth. 

Makeen insisted. “Perhaps you should get out now, Rin. It would not be good for your health to remain in the water for too long.”

He was almost as annoying as Nizamat with his care. 

“You should listen to him,” Rayn added. 

“I’m fine,” said Rin. “Just a little more, and then I will get out. All right?”

He wiped away the hair that covered his eyes.  
Makeen had been right, though; he shouldn’t have submerged in the water completely. His temple was smarting. As he began to tear the wet bandages from his head, he noticed a figure. 

There was a figure on the top of a sandbank. Someone was standing there. For a moment it was as though Rin’s body had halted whole.  
Haru. He had awoken.  
Rin smiled. He knew what to do. He knew, he knew. Swiftly he extended his arm toward Haru and beckoned.  
And Haru ran, ran to Rin and the water, tearing off a piece of his clothing at a time.  
He jumped in. Water sprayed Rin’s chest and face. 

Haru surfaced and swam as nimbly as a fish. Makeen, Rayn, and Nagi rushed across the water to greet him. 

“What happened to you?” said Haru, observing Rin’s eyes and bandages. 

“Someone hit him on the head,” said Nagi. “Badly, I think. Poor little Rin. He even climbed into your bed, crying that if you die he wants to die with you.”

“I didn’t cry,” Rin said. A burning stronger than the sunrays came upon his cheeks. “And I didn’t say that. Watch your mouth.” 

“Come here,” said Haru. “Stay still.” Gently he pulled the bandages off and brushed the hair away from Rin's face. Then he placed his hands above Rin’s forehead.

Though Haru’s hands were not touching him, Rin could feel them. First he felt them as a heat, then as a tickle, and soon the tickle turned into prickles and vibrating, cutting ache. Rin almost shoved Haru’s hands away. Yet then the aching relented, and instead of it came a light, heavenly sensation. It washed everything from his head to his toes, unclenching his muscles, comforting his nerves, and freeing his soul again. Rin blinked, noticing that nothing hurt him anymore, and nothing was making him irritated. His eyes could focus without difficulties. Easily they followed Haru. He was free.

As the Marids recounted to Haru what had happened, Rin waited. 

If everything would progress smoothly, it would soon be time to search for other Marids, as well, and offer them the old glory of their tribe. What would Haru decide then? To stay with Rin or to travel as a nomad again with his tribe men? The mere thought of Haru leaving filled Rin again with restlessness. 

“Little Rin, will you stop moping now,” said Little Nagi. He pulled Rin by the arms. “A prayer of thanks to the water spirits. Now, give me your hand.” 

They formed a circle, holding each other by hands.  
In silence they stood in the water for a while, and then they released their hands. 

Haru’s fingers, however, still nested twined with Rin’s. 

With Haru so close, Rin found tranquility, though many questions, unresolved matters still assailed him. What of uncles and Safa, of the unrest in northern Sarimah, of father, and of Western cities? What of Queen Izdihaar? What of the bandits? What of all regrets and uncertainties, of all the grief? Not only his, but those of Haru and the others, as well?  
What to do with them? He could not find solutions for all of them now, as much as he wished to. 

Around them the water was sparkling. The water was hollow enough to contain everything. It was hollow yet full. Each drop contained the mysteries of life, and each was full to the brim with memories of past and promises of future. Each was filled with age-old want for life, with the want to move and live with the rhythm of all created, in synchrony with the moon and the stars and the tossing sand and rustling leaves. There was enough water to wet every thirsty pair of lips in Alamas. There was water enough to hold all pain and fear and happiness. Enough of it to keep and guard each memory from the time people lived and swam with spirits. 

If only they could remain like this in the water, not follow nor lead, yet walk and swim abreast.

Rin felt his insides tremble and wave, as gauze caught in a draught, or like water surface stirred by the tongues of thirsty animals. 

His heart had tree ventricles instead of two, and one was filled with crystal water. There was enough space for his every thought and feeling, from the most sacred to the most profane, and the water would accept them and keep them for him. 

Haru was still holding him by the hand, and thus Rin let the sensation of invincibility and immortality flow from their touch into his veins and trickle back into the water, where it belonged. When he would find the words, he would speak of it to Haru. Water changed shape and nature yet remained the same, and a Sha’ir was also allowed to do so, to be dirty and blessed, dignified and crude, all-knowing and ignorant. Since they had accepted each other, so would the water. Like the water, life was full and indescribable, high and low, and dirty and blessed.  
Rather than its tragedy, was it not better to live for its beauty, for the beauty of the reality they were molding? 

It would be all right. 

The sun would not stop rising and setting. There was time for sadness and grief, and there was time for hope and joy. Now it was the latter.

“You’re truly here, in the water,” Haru whispered. “I thought…I feared it was a dream at first.” He glimpsed at Rin and moved slightly to the side, until their lips touched. 

“I still do,” said Rin, letting the words dissolve in Haru’s mouth. He pulled back. “Will you stand by me and let me change little by little, though that little may be no more than a speck of dust, a grain of sand per day? Will you change with me?”

Haru shrugged. “I’ve crossed more deserts than you know. I can live with little water for a long time.”

“As long as you’re with me, I will not let you go athirst,” Rin said in a low voice. “We do not have to wait the night.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Haru’s eyes were clear and free of any burdens. They shone peacefully, hiding the depth of seven seas underneath their composed surface. “Repeat it again for me.” As drops of honey the words brushed Rin’s ears and neck. 

‘Repeat what?’ Rin almost said, but then he knew. “You can have my heart and body. You can have my soul. Everything is yours.”

Softly Haru said in return, “Of those living and dead, none is closer to my heart than you, and none will ever be.” With eyes closed, hands playing with water and Rin’s fingers, he whispered, “Then let us live, let us live. Let us be free together.”

He took Rin’s lips.

Water splashed over them, and the voice of Little Nagi followed, “Hey, are you forgetting we’re still here?”

“Well,” said Rin.

“A little,” said Haru.

“That’s mean.” Nagi said, and between his hands, water plashed in all directions. Except Haru, everyone joined and played.

Haru only shook his wet hair, and Rin sent another jet of water into him. After two jets more, Haru returned the gesture and joined the water fight. 

Rin grinned. 

Under the sky of turquoise and the sun of gold, in ripples and splashes the water repeated after them, ‘Let us be free together.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided not to add further notes. They would explain some things in more detail, but overall they are not needed. Also, while I was writing this I spent a lot of time thinking about the symbolism in the anime, about Rin's and Haru's progression, and why they are indispensable to each other. I could write entire essays on this topic and draw diagrams and so on... *sigh* I hope that at least some of those ideas are recognizable in the fic. 
> 
> Thank you for reading until the end. If you commented, thank you even more, because that helped me to find the motivation to continue the story. 
> 
> *hugs*
> 
> So long, and thanks for all the mackerel.
> 
> EDIT:  
> Just in case anyone will see this; I'm really sorry for not having responded yet to the comments. :( I'll really try to do it before December, so this week.


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